LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

GIKT  OK 


W 


\C     "VW^     U 


A 


The  author  acknowledges  the  courtesy  of  The 
Sunset,  The  Overland  Monthly,  and  The  Youths' 
Companion  in  permitting  this  re-publication  of 
verses  which  have  appeared  in  their  columns. 


Copyrighted,  1904 
BY  ROBERT  WHITAKER 


TO  ONE  WHO  HAS  PASSED  ON. 

WHERE  thou  art  gone,  in  that  fair  land  of  song, 
How  canst  thou  care  for  faltering  phrase  of 

mine? 

The  everlasting  poesy  is  thine, 
Of  souls  supreme  among  the  immortal  throng; 
Thou  canst  not  want  for  words  both  sweet  and 

strong, 

Where  they  who  gave  us  the  Pierian  wine 
Themselves   have   drunken    deep   the   draught 

divine, 
And  conned  a  universe  for  centuries  long. 

And  yet,  so  were  thine  ears  attuned  with  love, 
Thou  couldst  detect  through  my  most  labored 

speech 

The  inmost  soul  of  what  I  longed  to  say. 
And  if  thou  art  not  yet  beyond  my  reach, 

Thy  quickened  soul  may  catch  in  my  poor  lay 
Some  accent  of  the  harmonies  above. 


MY  COUNTRY 


AND 


OTHER  VERSE 


BY 

ROBERT"    WHITAKER 


SAN   FRANCISCO 
THb   JAMES    H.    BARRY   COMPANY 

19O5 


» 


Contents. 

Page 

My   Country       9 

Loyalty       n 

Ecce  Homo        12 

Courage 14 

The  Father's  House       15 

When  I  Lie  Awake  at  Night 16 

Suicide        18 

The  Sleeping  Will IQ 

Worth   While 19 

Who  Is  the  Fool? 21 

What  Then?       23 

The  Finishers 25 

Men  of  England,  Hail! 27 

A  Preacher's  Wife 29 

Memories  of  Home 31 

I  Count  Life  Good 35 

A  Woman's  Wish 36 

Dear  Friends,  Forget 40 

Mount  Shasta 41 

Two   Birthdays        41 

My  Own  Nevada  and  Other  Songs. 

My  Own  Nevada        44 

Here  and  Now,  Every  Day        46 

Opening  Hymn       48 

Advent        49 

God's   Ways        51 

Revelation       52 

Imitation  of  Christ 53 

Our  Dead       54 

Peace 55 

Life  Is  Beautiful  Here 56 

With  Thee 57 

The  Scorned  Prophet. 

Dedication       61 

Hear,  O  Israel! 62 

Inspiration 85 

The  Great  Heresy 90 

The  Goodness  of  the  Bad 93 

Resurrection        95 


Since  Thou  Art  Gone. 

Page 

Afterwards 98 

Two    Mysteries       103 

When  Death  is  Past 106 

Memorials       m 

Perversity        113 

The  Last  Troth ftj 

The  Missing  Laughter        no 

A  Birthday  Wish        117 

God  Bless  Thee  Still up 

Annie   Laurie 120 

Under  the  Cross  and  Miscellaneous  Verse. 

Under  the  Cross 124 

Yesterday  and  To-Day       126 

A  Prayer 127 

Providence 129 

Thine 130 

To  Union  Labor 131 

The  True  Temple       132 

It  Might  Have  Been 133 

In   Oregon 134 

To  Play  the  Man        135 

I'm  Glad  I  Live  To-Day 137 

To-Day       . 139 

To  Live,  and  Love,  and  Learn 140 

When  Baby  Crows 141 

Not  Our  Own 143 

Dorothy 144 

The  Coming  Age        147 

Live  for  Something 150 

A   Paraphrase 152 

God  Garners  No  Green  Grain 154 

Blessed  Are  They  That  Mourn 155 

A  Vision  of  Faith 156 

Where  None  Are  Old 159 

Looking  Unto  Jesus       161 

Increase  Our  Faith 162 

He  Knoweth  Best 164 

Teach  Me  Thy  Will       165 

Choose  Thou  for  Me 166 

A  Traveler's  Trust 167 

God's  Grace        J68 

In  Everything  Give  Thanks        170 

Influence 172 

Hand  and  Heart' 175 


Page 

Wishing 176 

A  Dream  of  Judgment       178 

Mourning  for  Moses 180 

A   Reverie       183 

Flood-Tides 185 

Summer-Noon  in  the  Siskiyous 186 

Death  at  the  World.'s   Fair 187 

An  Earthquake  in  California 188 

Columbus 189 

To  an  Argonaut  at  Seventy       190 

In  Time  of  Melting  Snow 191 

The  Unexpressed        192 

Christmas 192 

Who  Weeps  To-Day? 193 

Kiss-Pockets       195 

In  Anger .     .  197 

My  "Bozzer  Body" 198 

A  Slang  Song 200 

Sunset  Through  the  Golden  Gate      ....  202 

I.  Wood 203 

Southern  California 205 

A  Minister  of  Jesus 207 

My    Penny         209 


MY  COUNTRY. 

MY  country  is  the  world;  I  count 

No  son  of  man  my  foe, 
Whether  the  warm  life  currents  mount 

And  mantle  brows  like  snow, 
Or  red,  or  yellow,  brown,  or  black, 
The  face  that  into  mine  looks  back. 

My  native  land  is  Mother  Earth, 

And  all  men  are  my  kin, 
Whether  of  rude  or  gentle  birth, 

However  steeped  in  sin ; 
Or  rich,  or  poor,  or  great,  or  small, 
I  count  them  brothers,  one  and  all. 

My  birthplace  is  no  spot  apart, 

I  claim  no  town  nor  state, 
Love  hath  a  shrine  in  every  heart, 

And  wheresoe'er  men  mate 
To  do  the  right  and  say  the  truth 
Love  evermore  renews  her  youth. 

My  flag  is  the  star-spangled  sky, 

Woven  without  a  seam, 
Where  dawn  and  sunset  colors  lie, 

Fair  as  an  angel's  dream, 
The  flag  that  still,  unstained,  untorn. 
Floats  over  all  of  mortal  born. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

My  party  is  all  human-kind, 
My  platform,  brotherhood: 

I  count  all  men  of  honest  mind 
Who  work  for  human  good, 

And  for  the  hope  that  gleams  afar, 

My  comrades  in  this  holy  war. 

My  heroes  are  the  great  and  good 

Of  every  age  and  clime, 
Too  often  mocked,  misunderstood, 

And  murdered  in  their  time, 
But  spite  of  ignorance  and  hate 
Known  and  exalted  soon  or  late. 

My  country  is  the  world;  I  scorn 

No  lesser  love  than  mine, 
But  calmly  wrait  that  happy  morn 

When  all  shall  own  this  sign, 
And  love  of  country,  as  of  clan, 
Shall  yield  to  world-wide  love  of  man. 


ro 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


LOYALTY. 

country,  right  or  wrong;"  so  some  would 
say, 

Meaning  that  we  must  stifle  our  dissent, 
And  yield  success  a  cowardly  consent, 
Approving  what  we  deem  a  wicked  way, 
Lest  men  misjudge  our  solitary  nay, 
And  credit  us  with  traitorous  intent  ; 
As  if  an  honest  opposition  meant 
Less  love  of  country  than  a  thoughtless  yea. 

So  have  they  argued  all  the  ages  through 

Who  have  played  lackey  to  the  powers  that  be : 
Yet  never  nation  has  grown  great  and  free 

But  by  the  grace  of  an  unfearing  few, 

Whose  love  of  country  has  not  dulled  their  sight 
To  larger  love  of  the  eternal  right. 


ii 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


ECCE  HOMO! 

DAY  fades  as  fades  the  year,  and  for  an  hour 
Earth's  autumn  loveliness  flecks  all  the  sky: 
The  flush  of  fevered  leaves  before  they  die, 

The  wistful  winsomeness  of  the  last  flower. 

The  purpling  pallor  of  wan  stalks  and  shoots, 
The  yellow  browns  of  stubble  and  of  corn, 
The  flash  of  frost  upon  the  crispy  morn, 

And  all  the  rainbow  tints  of  nuts  and  fruits, 

As  if  God  dipped  His  brush  in  yonder  sun, 
And  used  the  heavenly  arches  to  portray 
In  splendid  picture  at  the  close  of  day 

A  century's  Octobers  all  in  one. 

And   lumbering  homeward,   stained   with   sweat 

and  soil, 

With  graceless  gait,  and  melancholy  droop, 
Forlornness  written  large  in  step  and  stoop 

And  ragged  raiment,  goes  the  son  of  toil. 

How  does  he  differ  from  the  kine  he  leads, 
Browsing  serenely  on  the  nascent  grass? 
Before  their  eyes  the  glories  play  and  pass, 

Scorned  for  a  nibble  mid  the  wayside  weeds. 


12 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  yet  their  sleek  sides  mock  his  fretted  brow, 
Their  calm  eyes,  like  a  cloudless  firmament, 
Deepen  the  shadows  of  his  discontent, 

Their's  is  no  slavery  to  pick  and  plow. 

i 

He  answers  with  an  instant's  lifted  look, 

And  lo!  the  shadows  in  his  ruck-rimmed  eyes 
Have  caught  a  nobler  splendor  than  the  skies, 

His  shoulders  straighten,  and  as  if  he  shook 

The  burden  of  the  body  from  his  soul 
He  stands,  himself  an  artist  unabashed, 
With  richer  hues  than  ever  sunset  splashed 

On  cloudy  canvas  quick  to  his  control, 

And  with  firm  hand  he  sketches  the  vast  plan 
Whose  limits  lie  in  everlasting  haze, 
And  while  the  scheme  of  life  grows  on  his  gaze 

He  seems  himself  divine;  behold  the  Man! 

Reno,  Nevada,  November  19,  1902. 
December  3,  1902. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 
COURAGE. 

"I  AM  not  afraid  to  die," 

So  she  said, 
And  they  carved  her  brave  reply, 

When  life  fled, 
On  the  stone  that  towered  high 

O'er  her  head. 

But  another  dared  to  live, 

Dared  to  smile, 
Dared  to  bravely  do  and  give, 

Mile  by  mile, 
And  no  word  of  praise  receive 

All  the  while. 

'Tis  no   trifling   thing   to   die 

As  one  should, 
To  bid  all  the  loved  good-bye, 

In  brave  mood, 
And  with  calm  and  cheerful  eye 

Face  the  flood. 

But  to  face  life's  sting  and  smart 

Day  by  day, 
And  to  play  the  hero's  part 

All  the  way, 
Takes  a  stronger,  braver  heart, 

So  I  say. 

Reno,  Nevada,  May  25,  1003. 
14 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 
THE  FATHER'S   HOUSE. 

THE  Father's  house  is  everywhere, 

The  "many  mansions"  rise 
Wherever  worlds  are  swung  in  air, 

Under  our  own  blue  skies, 
Or  in  far  spaces  none  hath  known 

Save  God  alone. 

He  buildeth  always,  room  on  room, 

Nor  knoweth  new,  nor  old; 
Under  His  hand,  as  blossoms  bloom, 

So  do  the  worlds  unfold: 
With  neither  noise  nor  strain  of  strength 

From  length  to  length. 

His  substance  doth  not  fail,  nor  spoil, 

No  over-brooding  curse 
Lieth  upon  His  tireless  toil 

Who  builds  the  Universe; 
He  knows  not  heaviness,  nor  haste, 

Nor  want,  nor  waste. 

How  beautiful  He  buildeth  all 

The  heavens  and  earth  recite, 
Though  slow  as  creeps  through  crannied  wall 

The  unreluctant  light 
Our  hearts  let  in,  as  'twere  distress, 

Life's  loveliness. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

He  hath  no  lack  for  any  child, 

Nor  here,  nor  anywhere; 
Who  seems  to  lack  hath  been  beguiled 

Far  from  the  gates  of  prayer: 
Where  all  may  enter  without  stealth 

Into  God's  wealth. 

We  have  but  glimpsed  a  hall-way  here; 

Yon  tapestry  of  Death, 
Though  wrought  with  curious  forms  of  fear 

Is  lifted  with  a  breath, 
And  lo,  His  parlors  stretch  away 

For  aye,  for  aye. 

San  Francisco,  Cal.,  March  24,  1902. 


WHEN  I  LIE  AWAKE  AT  NIGHT. 

THE  streets  are  strangely  silent, 

And  the  house  is  deathly  still, 
Save  for  the  uncanny  creaking 

Of  some  door,  or  window-sill  ; 
I  know  there's  nothing  moving, 

Yet  sometimes  a  sort  of  fright 
Seems  to  palpitate  around  me 

When  I  lie  awake  at  night 

16 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Some  presence  seems  to  wake  me, 

I  can  half  imagine  ghosts, 
Though  I  laugh  at  superstitions, 

And  the  devil  and  his  hosts; 
But  sometimes  the  very  blackness 

Seems  to  clothe  itself  in  white, 
And  my  fancies  are  embodied 

When  I  lie  awake  at  night. 

Yet  when  I  get  accustomed 

To  the  darkness  of  the  room, 
When  I  drop  my  loosened  eyelids, 

And  shut  out  the  ghostly  gloom, 
I  often  have  such  visions 

As  I  dare  not  try  to  write, 
For  I  talk  with  God  and  angels 

When  I  lie  awake  at  night. 

My  dead  are  just  as  near  me 

As  my  earthly  loved  ones  then, 
I  can  see  their  smiling  faces, 

Hear  their  welcome  words  again; 
And  I'm  always  sweetly  certain 

Of  the  land  that's  out  of  sight, 
And  of  the  life  immortal 

When  I  lie  awake  at  night. 

Sometimes  my   thoughts  are  saddened 
By  the  errors  of  the  day, 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Sometimes  a  doubtful  future 
Fills  me  with  a  dread  dismay; 

And  then  comes  calm  and  comfort, 
And  regret  and  fear  take  flight, 

And  the  peace  of  God  is  with  me 
When  I  lie  awake  at  night. 

And  holy  resolutions 

Fair  as  angel  faces  come, 
I  walk  the  streets  of  heaven, 

And  my  spirit  is  at  home; 
And  whatever  sweet  surprises 

Wait  me  in  the  realms  of  light, 
I'm  often  heavenly  happy 

When  I  lie  awake  at  night. 

Ukiah,   California,   April  5,   1902. 


SUICIDE. 

NOT  death,  but  more  abundant  life 

Our  ills  demand, 
A  braver  bearing  in  the  strife, 

Not  the  rash  hand, 
Not  flight  from  flesh,  but  will  to  wait 

And  just  do  well, 
For  in  ourselves,  and  not  our  state, 

Is  heaven  or  hell. 

Reno,  Nevada,  November  22,  1002. 
18 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 
THE  SLEEPING  WILL. 

THE  God-man  sleeps  within  the  soul, 

Till  tempest  tossed 
Where  the  engulfing  waters  roll, 

And  all  seems  lost, 
The  meaner  self  awakes  the  Will, 

And  bids  him  save, 
And  his  majestic,  "Peace,  be  still!" 

Commands  the  wave. 

Reno,  Nevada,  November  22,  1902. 


WORTH  WHILE. 

IT  isn't  worth  while  to  worry 

Though  the  threads  of  the  day  are  crossed, 
And  we  strive  in  vain  with  the  tangled  skein, 

Till  labor  and  love  seem  lost; 
It  is  easy  to  fret  and  trouble, 

And  its  hard  to  sing  and  smile, 
But  the  anxious  mood  does  nobody  good, 

And  it  really  isn't  worth  while. 

It  isn't  worth  while  to  worry 

Though  others  misunderstand, 
And  the  good  you  do  is  thrown  back  at  you, 

And  the  favored  refuse  their  hand; 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

You  may  call  men  cross  and  stupid, 
And  sneer  at  their  graceless  guile, 

But  the  cynic's  part  never  helps  the  heart, 
And  it  really  isn't  worth  while. 

It  isn't  worth  while  to  worry 

Though  the  battle  for  bread  be  sore, 
And  the  want  at  home  drives  you  forth  to  roam 

A  beggar  from  door  to  door; 
You  may  not  deserve  such  fortune, 

Nor  others  deserve  their  pile, 
But   the  reign  of   right  will  not  come  through 
spite, 

And  it  really  isn't  worth  while. 

It  isn't  worth  while  to  worry 

Though  falsehood  and  wrong  succeed, 
And  the  better  cause  meets  unhappy  pause, 

And  the  Christ  is  condemned  by  creed  ; 
Stand  up  like  a  man  and  battle, 

Hit  hard  at  the  vain  and  vile, 
But  refuse  despair,  it  is  born  of  care, 

And  it  really  isn't  worth  while. 

It  isn't  worth  while  to  worry 

When  even  death  is  at  hand, 
Though  it  be  thine  end,  or  thy  dearest  friend 

Who  slips  toward  the  silent  land; 


20 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

For  all  must  pass  through  the  valley, 

And  it  helps  none  over  the  stile 
To  resist  the  rod,  or  to  fret  at  God, 

And  it  really  isn't  worth  while. 

It  isn't  worth  while  to  worry 

But  it  is  worth  while  to  trust, 
And  to  keep  one's  faith  that  in  life  or  death 

The  triumph  is  to  the  just: 
That  Infinite  Love  and  Wisdom 

Are  guiding  us  mile  by  mile, 
And  the  stars  may  fall,  but  God's  over  all, 

Aye!  this  really  is  worth  while. 

Reno,  Nevada,  October  6,  1902. 


WHO  IS  THE  FOOL? 

WHO  is  the  fool,  the  man  who  stands 
Upon  the  swirling  river's  shore 

With  gold  and  silver  in  his  hands 
And  idly  throws  away  his  store, 

Or  he  who  throws  himself  away 

In  reckless  living,  day  by  day'3 


21 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Who  is  the  fool,  the  man  who  burns, 
For  fun,  the  house  above  his  head, 

Or  he  who,  for  as  slight  returns, 
Lights  fires  of  passion  in  his  head, 

And  careless  of  the  morrow's  doom 

Laughs  loud  to  see  his  strength  consume? 

Who  is  the  fool,  the  savage  chief 
Who  sells  a  state  for  bauble  beads, 

Or  he  who  for  an  hour's  relief 
Like  Esau  on  his  pottage  feeds 

And  sells  his  birthright  as  a  man, 

His  place  in  the  Eternal's  plan? 

Who  is  the  fool,  the  rough  recluse 
Who  lives  a  hermit  in  his  cave, 

Or  he  who  of  as  little  use 

Asks  only  how  himself  to  save, 

And  in  the  cavern  of  his  heart 

From  all  his  fellows  lives  apart? 

Alas,  the  matter  hardly  mends, 
'Twere  easy  to  go  on,  and  on, 

But  for  the  fear  to  lose  one's  friends, 
And  find  one's  own  assurance  gone; 

Who  measures  by  the  perfect  rule 

Need  not  look  far  to  find  a  fool. 

Reno,  Nevada,  January  28,  1903. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


WHAT  THEN? 

SUPPOSE  you  gained  a  dollar  yesterday, 

Or  gained  a  score, 
Or  made  your  fortune  by  some  clever  play 

A  million  more, 
And  made  life  harder  for  your  fellow  men; 

What  then? 

Suppose  your  plans  for  profit  all  succeed, 

And  you  are  worth, 
According  to  the  measurings  of  greed, 

Say,  half  the  earth, 
But  of  the  worth  of  service  have  no  ken ; 

What  then? 

Suppose  you  give  a  little  of  the  wealth 

You  cannot  use, 
And  steal  its  double  by  some  artful  stealth, 

Or  legal  ruse, 
And  men  are  fooled  to  give  you  chance  again; 

What  then? 

Suppose  that  by  and  by  the  people  wake, 
And  take  their  own, 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Nor  ask  for  just  a  nibble  at  the  cake, 

Nor  for  a  bone, 
And  will  not  longer  bide  in  hole  and  den; 

What  then? 


Suppose  the  fellows  you  have  sneered  aside 

As  fools  and  cranks, 

The  world's  to-morrow    with    their    counsels 
guide, 

And  win  world-thanks, 
And  truth  flows  freely  from  to-morrow's  pen, 

What  then? 


Aye,  and  suppose  there  is  a  realm  above 

Where  Right  is  throned, 
And  men  are  weighed  in  balances  of  love, 

Nor  crime  condoned 

Because  'twas  wrought  among  the  "upper  ten," 
What  then? 
What—then? 

Reno,  Nevada,  January  26,  1903. 


24 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


THE  FINISHERS. 

GOD  builded  a  frame-work  one  day, 

And  roofed  it,  and  boarded  it  in, 
He  planned  it  in  generous  way, 

But  did  little  more  than  begin; 
And  then  He  called  some  of  His  boys, 

And  gave  them  the  task  to  complete, 
With  a  hint  of  the  hardships  and  joys 

That  they  might  make  ready  to  meet. 

He  left  them  to  live  in  the  house, 

And  finish  it  up  as  they  would, 
To  live  like  the  grub  or  the  mouse 

Content  with  a  refuge  and  food, 
Or  to  make  of  their  chambers  and  feasts 

A  miniature  of  the  divine, 
And  they  themselves  monarchs  and  priests, 

And  life  a  libation  of  wine. 

And  then  He  bade  some  of  His  girls 

Go  company  them  in  their  place, 
And  gave  them  eyes  lustrous  as  pearls, 

And  planted  a  flower  in  each  face, 
And  braided  night  charms  in  their  hair, 

And  taught  them  all  womanly  wiles, 
Till  even  the  rude  and  the  bare 

Grew  glorious  under  their  smiles. 

25 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  so  they  moved  in,  and  began 

Their  part  in  the  work  of  the  years, 
Deciphering  slowly  the  plan 

Which  in  the  vast  structure  appears; 
Too  often  contented  with  ease, 

Or  torn  with  dissension  and  strife, 
Too  often  too  easy  to  please, 

Too  dull  to  the  largeness  of  life. 


A  few  builded  booths  for  themselves, 

Or  made  others  build  them  instead, 
And  fitted  up  closets  and  shelves, 

And  pilfered  from  living  and  dead 
To  pile  up  possessions  unused, 

Or  rival  another's  display; 
And  so  were  the  weaker  abused, 

And  ages  were  frittered  away. 


And  they  who  dared  dream  of  the  morn 

When  no  one  should  labor  in  vain, 
Were  greeted  with  laughter  and  scorn, 

And  sometimes  were  shackled  and  slain, 
Because  they  were  anxious  to  serve, 

Not  self,  nor  the  whims  of  the  few, 
And  only  unwilling  to  swerve 

From  that  which  was  honest  and  true. 


26 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Yet  still  do  they  dream  of  the  age, 

The  age  that  is  surely  to  be, 
When  no  man  shall  want  for  his  wage, 

When  all  shall  be  happy  and  free; 
The  house  that  God  gave  them  complete, 

Made  perfect  through  wisdom  and  love, 
Where  man  and  his  Maker  may  meet, 

Nor  wait  for  the  mansions  above. 

Reno,  Nevada,  December  7,  1902. 


MEN  OF  ENGLAND,  HAIL! 

MEN  of  England,  hark! 

Hear  the  call  to  arms, 
Though  the  hour  is  dark 

Faint  not  for  alarms; 
Day's  at  hand,  at  hand, 

Yonder   bugle   blast 
Sounding  o'er  the  land 

Marks  the  morn  at  last. 

Men  of  England,  heed! 

Rouse  ye  from  your  sleep, 
To  the  sword  and  steed 

With    strong   step   and    leap; 


27 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Steady,  side  by  side, 

Be  ye  calm  as  bold, 
So  shall  wisdom  guide 

As  in  days  of  old. 

Men  of  England,  fight 

For  the  rights  of  men, 
Trust  ye  in  the  might 

Of  the  truth  again, 
Though  unnumbered  foes 

Pressage  sure  defeat, 
Victory  waits  for  those 

Who  the  wrong  dare  meet. 

Men  of  England,  pray 

To  the  God  of  hosts, 
Gath  may  gloat  to-day, 

While  Goliath  boasts, 
Ye  shall  hew  his  head 

With   his   own   vain   sword, 
Herod's  ilk  are  dead, 

Lives  our  infant  Lord. 

Men  of  England,  dare! 

Dare  to  even  die, 
Better  far  to  bear 

Any  ill  than  lie, 
Better  rack  and  rot, 

Any  fate,  forsooth, 
Than  abate  one  jot 

Of  eternal  truth. 
28 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Men  of  England,  hail! 

We,  who  dwell  afar, 
Know  ye  will  not  fail 

In  this  holy  war; 
Sons  of  common  sires, 

We  salute  you  kin, 
Yours  are  our  desires, 

For  us  all  you  win. 

Reno,  Nevada,  November  6,  1902. 


A  PREACHER'S  WIFE. 

No,  she  isn't  prim  and  proper, 
And  she  doesn't  care  a  copper 

What  they  say; 
She's  so  innocent  of  wrong, 
And  so  full  of  laugh  and  song> 
That  she's  happy  all  day  long 

On  her  way. 

She's  as  fond  of  pretty  dresses 
And  of  kisses  and  caresses 

As  a  child; 

But  she  has  a  lot  of  sense, 
And  she  doesn't  take  offense, 
And  she  sizes  up  pretense, 

Unbeguiled. 
29 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

She  don't  babble  French  or  German, 
But  she  understands  a  sermon, 

And  she  knows 

When  her  praise  is  balm  and  crown, 
When  the  preacher  needs  a  frown, 
And  just  how  to  call  him  down 

In  hard  prose. 

She's  no  zealot  or  fanatic, 
And  she  doesn't  wax  ecstatic 

To  be  good : 

She's  a  woman  through  and  through, 
Sweet,  and  sensible,  and  true, 
Who's  religion  is  to  do 

What  she  should. 


She's  not  fond  of  public  speaking, 
And  she's  not  a  bit  self-seeking, 

Her's  to  be 

Not  the  leader  in  the  strife, 
But  a  happy,  helpful  wife, 
Quite  content  to  live  her  life 

Full  and  free. 


I'm  not  sure  that  she's  ideal, 
But  what's  better  far,  she's  real 
And  intact. 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

She's  no  figment  of  a  dream, 
No  imaginative  scheme, 
Nor  a  poet's  idle  theme; 
She's  a  fact. 

Reno,  Nevada,  May  20,  1902. 


MEMORIES  OF  HOME. 

Two  thousand  miles  and  more  away, 
The  scenes  where  I  was  wont  to  play, 
The  happy  home  where  still  they  dwell 
Whom  I  can  never  love  too  well : 
Two  thousand  miles,  and  more — ah  me! 
'Tis  quite  too  far  for  eyes  to  see, 
But  thank  the  Father-God  above 
'Tis  not  too  far  for  hearts  to  love. 


My  thoughts  will  hardly  wait  for  words, 
But  swifter  than  the  flight  of  birds, 
O'er  desert,  mountain,  river,  plain, 
They  wing  their  homeward  way  again, 
Back  to  the  well  remembered  place, 
And  lo!  my  loved  are  face  to  face, 
And  free  of  foot  I  wander  o'er 
The  happy,  holy  haunts  of  yore. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

The  old  white  farm-house  fairer  seems 
Against  the  glory  of  my  dreams 
Than  when  I  saw  it  day  by  day 
With  eyes  too  fixed  on  work  or  play. 
For  love  hath  such  a  searching  look 
That  I  can  trace  it's  every  nook; 
I  did  not  think  that  it  could  be 
So  good  and  beautiful  to  me. 


The  very  barn,  unpainted  yet, 
All  weather-worn  with  wind  and  wet, 
Is  fairer  than  the  halls  that  rise 
Against  these  unfamiliar  skies: 
And  every  out-house  hath  an  air 
Of  something  that  is  almost  fair, 
Even  the  fence  rows  stretch  away 
Like  cloud  drifts  at  the  close  of  day. 


The  dusty  highway  dips,  ascends, 

With  charm  that  only  memory  lends, 

And  strangely  fair  to  envy's  eye 

The  poorest  tramp  that  passes  by, 

Since  he  has  privilege  to  see 

More  than  my  dreams  bring  back  to  me; 

I  marvel  at  his  unconcern 

Amid  the  scenes  for  which  I  yearn. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

The  meadow  hath  a  greener  green 
Than  any  meadow  I  have  seen, 
The  harvests  bending  to  the  breeze, 
Are  fairer  than  all  shimmering  seas; 
Perhaps  the  pasture  seems  to  some 
Not  the  least  like  to  Kingdom  Come, 
But  I  shall  well  contented  be 
If  heaven  is  half  as  fair  to  me. 


The  cattle  and  the  barn-yard  fowl, 
The  household  pets  that  romp  and  prowl, 
The  birds  that  flit  from  bough  to  bough. 
The  flowers  and  fruits  unclosing  now, 
The  very  pebble  on  the  path, 
Its  own  peculiar  beauty  hath, 
And  one  and  all  are  more  to  me 
Than  all  the  far-famed  sights  I  see. 


The  glory  of  life's  dawning  days 
Still  lieth  on  my  childhood  ways, 
The  glory  that  is  not  of  earth, 
That  cometh  with  us  at  our  birth: 
But  love  hath  still  a  stronger  charm 
To  bind  me  to  the  dear  old  farm, 
The  old  scenes  were  not  half  so  fair 
Save  for  the  dear  ones  who  are  there. 


33 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Nor  house,  nor  barn,  nor  fields,  nor  trees, 
Nor  rocks,  nor  hills,  nor  streams,  nor  seas, 
Nor  great,  nor  small  in  Nature's  mart 
Can  ever  satisfy  the  heart; 
But  only  love:  and  so  that  place 
Hath  most  of  beauty,  most  of  grace, 
Where  love  has  ever  been  our  guide, 
And  where  our  best  beloved  abide. 


It  may  be  I  shall  live  no  more 
Amid  the  happy  scenes  of  yore, 
The  years  may  bring  no  more  to  me 
A  home  beneath  the  old  roof-tree: 
But  till  I  reach  the  home  above, 
A  father's  care,  a  mother's  love, 
Shall  make  the  dear  old  home  to  be 
The  fairest  spot  on  earth  to  me. 

Reno,  Nevada,  May  9,  1902. 


34 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


I  COUNT  LIFE  GOOD. 

I  COUNT  life  good  at  any  cost 

Of  toil  or  pain, 
So  that  love's  largess  is  not  lost, 

Nor  reckoned  vain. 
And  so  that,  spite  of  every  ill, 
Man  keeps  his  troth  with  virtue  still. 

I  count  life  good  in  any  place, 

Or  high  or  low; 
Who  finds  a  useful  task  disgrace 

Must  make  it  so, 

And  who  makes  most  of  now  and  here 
Need  never  fret  for  larger  sphere. 

I  count  life  good  at  any  age, 

All  years  are  blest, 
And  yield  a  satisfying  wage 

To  honest  zest, 

And  there's  a  compensating  bliss 
For  every  happiness  we  miss. 

I  count  life  good  in  any  world, 

Whatever  lies 
Beyond  the  farthest  planets  whirled 

Before  our  eyes; 
Beyond  the  boundaries  of  breath 
I  doubt  not  life  shall  conquer  death. 

35 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  if  we  find  death  does  not  mean 

Surcease  of  strife, 
If  still  beyond  the  known  and  seen 

The  endless  life 

Means  endless  struggle,  though  it  should 
Yet  will  I  dare  to  count  life  good. 

Reno,  Nevada,  November  23,  1902. 


A  WOMAN'S  WISH. 

"I  WISH  I  were  a  man,"  she  said, 
And  then,  at  my  reproving  look, 
She  bade  me  name  from  life  or  book, 
Among  the  hosts  of  quick  or  dead, 

One  man,  whose  sanity  was  human, 
Who  ever  wished  to  be  a  woman. 

"Yet  women  I  have  known  a  score 
Who  frankly  sighed  for  change  of  sex, 
And  lifted  shapely  brows  and  necks 
And  dared  to  openiy  deplore 

Despite  the  pretty  words  men  retail 

The  fate  that  made  them  fair  and  female." 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

I  could  but  answer,  "I  have  known 
A  few  strong  women  in  my  day 
Of  whom  I  have  the  joy  to  say 
Their  life  was  lived  to  truer  tone, 

Who  counted  chief  of  human  good 
Their  legacy  of  womanhood. 

"I  grant  that  law  and  custom  both 
Betimes  have  laid  a  heavy  hand 
Upon  the  sex  in  every  land, 
And  man's  inhumanness  and  sloth 

Have  made  his  joy  and  sorrow  sharer 
A  broken-hearted  burden  bearer. 

"I  grant  that  yet  when  life  begirts 
The  dauntless  will  and  leaping  limb 
With  shackle  of  some  senseless  whim, 
And  swathes  the  very  soul  in  skirts, 

The  woman  well  might  wish  to  be 
At  least  a  man  in  liberty. 

"But  none  the  less  her  gift  of  grace, 
The  music  of  her  tenderer  tones, 
The  charms  that  only  woman  owns, 
Her  loveliness  of  form  and  ^ace, 

Her  very  garments'  silken  swishing, 
Are  answer  to  all  foolish  wishing. 

37 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

"And  if  sometimes  a  woman  speak 
Such  wish  as  men  are  slow  to  tell, 
It  may  be  manhood  hath  a  spell 
The  spirit  hath  no  need  to  seek; 
More  obvious  as  to  the  letter, 
But  not  to  the  soul's  vision  better. 


"The  deeper  man  is  he  who  feels 
True  womanhood's  attraction  most; 
And  yet  he  dare  not  wish,  nor  boast, 
Since  the  Creative  Thought  conceals 
From  mortal  eyes  the  history 
Which  giveth  sex  its  mystery. 

"He  might  be  glad  to  be  as  fair 
And  good  as  often  woman  is, 
Or  could  he  even  guess  the  bliss 
That  maketh  motherhood  so  rare, 

For  such  high  summit  of  the  human 
The  noblest  man  might  be  a  woman. 

"But  he  who  answers  to  this  thought 
Shrinks  back  in  wordless  silence,  such 
As  holds  his  ringers  from  the  touch 
Of  finest  fabric  she  hath  wrought, 

His  virgin  wishes  hide  their  faces 
As  she  behind  her  webs  and  laces. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

"Who  has  not  some  time  yearned  to  cross 
The  bridgeless  gulf  from  sex  to  sex? 
And  solve  the  problems  that  perplex, 
Another's  gain,  another's  loss, 

And  prove,  if  possible,  how  seeing 
Is  like  and  different  from  being. 


"And,  faith,  what  fools  these  mortals  be, 
For  is  it  not  of  nature's  plan 
That  whether  woman,  whether  man, 
Still  he  is  she,  and  she  is  he? 

And  both  are  both,  since  both  are  human, 
He  woman-man,  and  she  man-woman." 

Mountain  View,   California,   December  i,  1902. 


39 


My  C  OKU  try  and  Other  Verse. 


DEAR  FRIENDS   FORGET. 

IT  were  a  joy  to  know  that  friends 
Will  think  of  me  when  I  have  passed, 

Even  as  when  the  sun  descends 
On  cloud  and  sky  his  glories  last, 

Or  else  against  the  outer  gloom 
The  candle,  lamp,  or  brighter  jet 

Repeats  the  day  from  room  to  room, 
A  memory  yet. 


But  even  as  the  kindly  night 

Obscures  the  wounds  that  scar  the  day, 
And  from  the  wearied,  sated  sight 

Hides  earth's  unloveliness  away, 
So  let  my  loved  as  gentle  be, 

And  when  my  sun  of  life  has  set 
All  the  day's  blemishes  in  me 
Dear  friends,  forget. 

Oakland   Ferry-boat,   December   2,  1902. 


40 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


MOUNT  SHASTA. 

O  FAIR  Sierran,  queen  of  myriad  mountains, 

With  ruffled  petticoat  of  dark  green  trees, 
And  ermine  robes  that  hide  thy  jewelled  fountains, 

Whiter  than  whitest  wings  that  sweep  the  seas, 
With  throat  and  brow  of  purest  alabaster, 

Veiled  in  the  softest  laces  of  the  skies, 
Serene,  sublime,  superlative  Mount  Shasta — 

Who  once  hath  seen  thee  knows  why  God  made 
eyes. 


TWO  BIRTHDAYS. 

I  HAVE  two  birthdays;  one  that  I  can  show 
Upon  the  calendar  of  passing  years: 

Another  birthday  that  I  do  not  know, 
But  only  that  it  dawns  and  disappears. 

One  of  my  birthdays  evermore  recedes, 

And  every  year  lies  farther  down  the  past 

The  other  birthday  just  as  swiftly  speeds, 
And  every  night  is  nearer  than  the  last. 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

One  birthday  brought  me,  no  one  knoweth  whence, 
And  laid  me  helpless  on  my  mother's  breast; 

The  other  birthday  surely  bears  me  hence, 
But  no  one  knoweth  whither  is  my  quest. 


One  birthday  left  me  a  lone  stranger  here, 
Yet  I  found  loving  welcome  and  kind  care ; 

Shall  not  my  other  birthday  bring  me  cheer 
Since  many  of  my  loved  are  over  there? 


With  wailing  cry  I  met  their  joyous  smile. 
That  unremembered  birthday  past  and  gone, 

With  joy,  I  trust,  though  others  weep  a  while, 
That  other  birthday  I  shall  travel  on. 


There  are  not  lacking  those  who  keep  for  me 
The  birthday  that  draws  rapidly  away, 

That  other  birthday  any  day  may  be, 
Wherefore  let  me  give  presents  every  day. 

Reno,  Nevada,  December  u,  1902. 


AND 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


MY  OWN  NEVADA. 

OH,  my  Nevada, 

Dearest  home  on  earth  to  me, 
Heed  not  their  laughter 

Who  make  light  of  thee; 
Love  alone  hath  vision 

To  behold  how  fair  thou  art, 
And  thy  children  only 

Know  thy  charms  by  heart. 


CHORUS — 


My  own  Nevada, 

I  am  not  ashamed  of  thee; 
My  own  Nevada, 

Thou  art  home  to  me. 

Few  are  thy  cities, 

And  thy  towns  are  far  between, 
Scant  are  thy  harvests, 

And  thy  fields  of  green; 
But  thy  sagebrush  deserts, 

And  thy  hills  so  brown  and  bare, 
Have  their  own  strange  beauty, 

In  thy  lucent  air. 


44 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And,  so  it  seemeth, 

As  if  thus  to  compensate, 
Thy  skies  are  fairest 

Where  thy  harvests  wait; 
On  thy  treeless  hillsides 

How  the  colors  dawn  and  die, 
And  where  earth  is  drearest 

Softest  shadows  lie. 


No,  not  forever 

Shall  thy  acres  lie  untilled; 
No,  not  forever 

Shall  thy  wealth  be  spilled 
In  the  laps  of  strangers, 

Who  thy  silver  locks  have  shorn, 
And  have  mocked  thy  weakness, 

Whence  their  strength  was  born. 


No,  not  forever, 

Some  day  shall  thy  waters  stored, 
Flow  through  thy  valleys, 

And  unlock  their  hoard; 
And  thy  fields  shall  ripple 

With  the  laugh  of  golden  grain, 
And  thy  hills  shall  echo 

With  the  laugh  again. 


45 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Some  day  thy  children 

Shall  a  glad,  great  army  be; 
Some  day  thy  cities 

Known  from  sea  to  sea; 
Yet  they  shall  not  love  thee, 

In  that  day  of  thy  success, 
More  than  we  who  love  thee 

Just  for  lovingness. 

Reno,  Nevada,  September  21,  1902. 

Dedicated  to  the   Class   of   1906,   Nevada   State 
University. 


HERE  AND  NOW,  EVERY  DAY.* 

THERE'S  a  faith  that  is  broader  than  sect, 
That  is  deeper  than  gesture  or  creed; 

'Tis  the  faith  that  is  known  by  effect, 
The  religion  of  spirit  and  deed. 

CHORUS — 

Here  and  now,  every  day, 

Let  us  live  for  the  good  and  the  true; 
Here  and  now,  every  day, 

Let  us  do  as  we'd  have  others  do. 

"Tune,  "The  Sweet  By  and  By." 
46 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Let  us  say  the  kind  word  when  we  can, 
And  be  chary  of  scoffing  and  sneers; 

11  et  us  work  for  the  welfare  of  man, 

With  unfaltering  hope  through  the  years. 


Let  us  live  pur  religion  at  home, 
And  some  commonplace  victories  win; 

While  we  pray  for  the  kingdom  to  come, 
Let  us  seek  for  the  kingdom  within. 


Let  us  follow  the  Christ  in  His  love, 
And  be  willing  to  suffer  for  right; 

Let  us  trust  in  the  Father  above, 

And  be  faithful  to  goodness  and  light. 

Reno,  Nevada,  October  i,  1902. 
Dedicated    to    Student    Body    of    Nevada    State 
University. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


OPENING  HYMN. 

WE  meet  in  love  of  God  and  man, 
In  love  of  right  and  truth: 

Defenders  of  no  scheme  or  plan, 
Or  any  church,  forsooth; 

But,  children  of  one  Father's  care, 

We  join  in  song,  and  speech,  and  prayer. 

We  meet  to  worship — not  to  prove 
Some  dogma  right  or  wrong; 

To  help  each  other  walk  in  love, 
And  in  the  truth  be  strong; 

Not  for  the  strife  of  warring  creeds, 

But  for  the  help  of  human  needs. 

We  welcome  all,  or  rich  or  poor, 

Or  cultured  or  unschooled, 
Or  good  or  bad,  since  we  are  sure 

That  all  are  overruled 
By  one  great  Father  of  us  all 
In  whom  alone  we  stand  or  fall. 


48 


My  Country  and  Other   Verse. 


ADVENT. 

Lo,  HE  cometh,  day  by  day, 

Still  in  unaccustomed  way, 

Still  the  Christ,  despised,  unknown, 

Still  rejected  by  His  own, 

Still  of  lowly  place  and  birth 

So  the  Saviour  comes  to  earth. 

Born  of  sorrow  and  of  shame, 
Yesterday,  to-day,  the  same, 
Wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes  again, 
Heir  of  weakness  and  of  pain, 
Crowded  forth  from  comfort's  door, 
Manger-cradled  with  the  poor. 

Still  the  lowly  catch  the  song 

Of  the  beatific  throng, 

Still   the  wise   men  come  from   far, 

Heaven  led,  their  sign  a  star, 

Still  some  prophet  souls  perceive 

'Tis  the  Christ  whom  they  receive. 

Still  while  years  go  on  at  length 
Slowly  comes  He  to  His  strength, 
Slowly  learns  Himself  the  Son, 


49 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Slowly  is  His  work  begun, 
Some  John  Baptist  goes  before, 
His  fore-runner  as  of  yore. 


Still  He  does  His  works  of  might 

In  our  unbelieving  sight, 

Speaks  to  ears  that  still  are  sealed, 

Pleads  with  hearts  that  will   not  yield, 

Traitor-kissed,  and  still  denied, 

So  is  Jesus  crucified. 


Lo,  He  cometh,  even  now, 
Soul  beware,  thou  know'st  not  how; 
Watch  thee,  lest  thou  scorn  Him  too,   • 
Lest  thine  own  kiss  prove  untrue, 
Hearken  what  He  says  to  thee, 
"Take  thy  cross,  and  follow7  Me." 

Waltham,  Mass.,  June  22,  1901. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


GOD'S  WAYS. 

STRANGE  are  the  ways  of  God  with  men, 
He  hides  His  meanings  from  our  ken, 
We  can  but  guess,  and  trust  Him  still, 
Assured  that  He  can  do  no  ill. 

He  takes  the  strong  we  seem  to  need, 
He  leaves  the  weak  for  whom  we  bleed, 
The  old  and  feeble  tarry  on, 
And  lo,  the  babe  of  days  is  gone. 

Wealth  comes  to  those  who  need  it  not, 
God's   poor   seem   oftentimes   forgot, 
And  they  have  health  who  live  in  vain, 
While  saints  and  heroes  writhe  in  pain. 

While  merit  walks  in  ways  obscure 
A.nd  men  neglect  the  good  and  pure, 
Shams  thrive  apace  and  catch  the  crowd, 
And  Folly  laughs  her  gains  aloud. 

Yet  God  is  sovereign  over  all, 
He  notes  the  smallest  sparrow's  fall, 
He  hears  the  cries  that  rise  so  long, 
And  sees  the  victories  of  wrong. 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


But  who  are  we  to  chide  at  Him? 
Love  leans  on  Faith  when  sight  is  dim, 
And  sings  triumphant  in  the  night 
The  glories  of  the  morning  light. 

Boston  Common,  June  24,  1901. 


REVELATION. 

LORD,  Thou  hast  not  left  Thy  creatures 

Groping  vainly  after  Thee, 
Everywhere  we  trace  Thy  features, 

Everywhere  Thy  glory  see. 

Still  the   pure  in   heart  perceive  Thee 
In  a  thousand  wondrous  ways, 

Still  the  souls  that  will  receive  Thee 
Thou  art  filling  with  Thy  praise. 

Evermore  Thyself  concealing 

From  the  proud  who  will  not  seek, 

Evermore  Thyself  revealing 
To  the  earnest  and  the  meek. 

Through  the  priest  of  ancient  story, 
Through  the  prophet  stem  and  bold, 

Through  the  Christ  who  came  in  glory 
In  the  blessed  days  of  old. 

52 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Still  Thy  character  unfolding 

Through  Thy  spirit  and  Thy  word, 

So  are  men  Thy  face  beholding 
As  their  Father,  Friend,  and  Lord. 

Shirley,  Mass.,  June  28,  1901. 


IMITATION  OF  CHRIST. 

O  MAN  of  Galilee, 

Both  human  and  divine, 

Help  us  to  follow  after  Thee, 

Make  Thou  our  lives  like  Thine. 

Help  us  to  love  the  lost, 

And  woo  them  from  their  sin; 

Help  us,  whatever  be  the  cost, 
Thy  wandering  ones  to  win. 

Help  us  to  bring  relief 
To  all  the  sick  and  sore, 

Help  us  to  comfort  them  in  grief, 
And  when  they  faint,  restore. 

Help  us  to  be  as  true, 
Nor  shrink  from  any  loss, 

The  Father's  perfect  will  to  do, 
Come  either  crown  or  cross. 

Reno,  Nevada,  Dec.  12,  1902. 
53 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


OUR  DEAD. 

O  BLESSED  Lord  of  life, 

And  of  all  worlds  that  be, 
Thy  loved  who  cease  from  earthly  strife 

Still  do  not  cease  from  Thee. 

We  know  not  where  they  are, 

Nor  what  may  be  their  state, 
Nor  whether  near,  nor  whether  far, 

For  us  our  dear  ones  wait. 

We  only  know  Thy  love 

Is  sovereign  everywhere 
And  we  below,  and  they  above, 

Are  always  in  Thy  care. 

Perchance  they  pray  for  us, 

Dear  Lord,   canst  Thou  condemn, 

If  loving  Thee,   and   trusting   thus, 
We  breathe  this  wish  for  them? 

Bless  them,  and  bless  us,  Lord, 

With  gift  of  common  grace, 
To  know,  and  love,  and  do  Thy  word, 

Or  here,  or  any  place. 


54 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  though  our  spheres  may  be 

This  "little  while"  apart, 
Let  us  alike  so  dwell  in  Thee 

We  shall  be  one  in  heart. 

Reno,  Nevada,  Dec.  12,  1902. 


PEACE. 

GOD  of  the  nations  rise; 

Oh,  bring  the  age  of  peace ; 
Make  Thou  our  cruel  battle  cries, 

Our  wicked  wars  to  cease. 

Teach  us  a  kinder  mood 

Than   patriotic  pride, 
Since  once  for  men  of  every  blood 

The  man  of  Calvary  died. 

Teach  us  a  larger  love 

Than  land  or  flag  may  give, 
Our  banner  be  the  blue  above, 

Our  fellows  all  who  live. 

Teach  us  a  wiser  skill, 

A  lustre  not  of  arms, 
Teach  us  the  wisdom  of  good-will, 

And  its  unfading  charms. 

55 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Aye,  give  us  conquest,  Lord, 

Let  this  our  triumph  be 
To  conquer  self  in  deed  and  word, 

And  in  Thy  truth  be  free. 

Reno,  Nevada,  Dec.  12,  1902. 

Note — The  three  songs,  dated  each  December 
12,  1902,  were  all  written  to  the  tune  of  "Green 
wood"  as  played  for  me  that  morning  by  Mrs.  J. 
E.  Stubbs.  R.  W. 


LIFE  IS  BEAUTIFUL  HERE.* 

LIFE  is  beautiful  here,  under  commonplace  skies 
In   commonplace  highways  and   field, 

There  is  loveliness  everywhere  waiting  for  eyes 
To  see  what  the  Lord  hath  revealed. 

Life  is  beautiful  now,  in  this  moment  of  time, 

Though  happiness  seem  to  delay, 
He  makes  his  to-morrow  most  surely  sublime 

Who  lives  most  sublimely  to-day. 

"Tune,  "I  Will  Sing  You  a  Song  of  That  Beau 
tiful  Land." 

56 


My  Country  and  Other  Versf. 

Life  is  always  and  everywhere  good  to  the  mar* 
Who  lives  in  the  service  of  love, 

Though  little  he  reck  of  the  infinite  plan, 
Or  guess  of  the  glories  above. 

Woodland,  California,  January  n,  1903. 


WITH  THEE. 

I  ASK  no  crown  of  glory,  Lord, 
Nor  stars,  nor  crystal  sea; 

Who  loves  Thee  hath  at  once  reward, 
'Tis  heaven  to  walk  with  Thee. 

Let  me  not  long  for  life  to  come, 

For  happiness  to  be, 
I  shall  be  even  now  at  home 

If  I  may  walk  with  Thee. 

Give  me  the  grace  to  share  Thy  cross, 

And   thy  Gethsemane, 
Let  me  not  shrink  from  any  loss 

So  that  I  walk  with  Thee. 

Or  this  world,  or  some  other,  Lord, 

It  matters  not  to  me, 
If  I  may  love  and  do  Thy  word, 

And  always  walk  with  Thee. 

Ukiah,  California,  April  4,  1902. 
57 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


DEDICATION. 

To  mine  own  Israel  first  of  all,  the  four  million 

and  a  half  of  Baptists  in  the  United  States. 

And  after  them  to  the  larger  Israel,  of  every 
name  and  faith. 

As  a  Protest  against  that  trinity  of  evils  which 
hath  ever  dominated  too  much  the  life  and  work 
of  every  church,  Ritualism,  Traditionalism,  and 
Mammonism,  which  are  the  essence  of  the  Phar 
isaism  that  crucified  the  Christ. 

And  as  a  plea  for  that  simple,  practical,  unself 
ish  love  toward  God  and  toward  man  wherein 
is  the  substance  of  the  teaching  of  Jesus. 


61 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


HEAR,  O  ISRAEL. 

O  CHURCH  which  I  have  loved  and  served 

With  joy  these  many  years, 
Whose  faith  fell  from  my  mother's  lips 

Upon  my  infant  ears, 
Whose  benedictions  soothed  me  when 

I  laid  my  dead  away, 
Out  of  the  love  I  bear  for  thee 

Let  me  speak  forth  to-day. 

Thy  children   are   a  mighty  host 

And  I  am  only  one, 
No  slightest  primacy  I  boast, 

Nor  aught,  or  said,  or  done; 
Nor  can  I  claim  to  love  thee  more 

Than  others  who  applaud, 
But  search  my  meanings  to  the  core 

And  thou  shalt  find  no  fraud. 

Just  honest  words,  or  false,  or  true, 

Or  weighty,  or  unwise, 
Perchance  they  are  not  even  new, 

Nor  even  stir  surprise; 
But  words  conceived  in  love,  and  born 

With  travail  and  with  tears, 
Nurtured  for  either  praise  or  scorrij 

For  either  smiles  or  sneers. 
62 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

O  Church,  thou  hast  been  brave  of  old, 

Thy  millions  are  the  seed 
Of  martyred  sires,  who  once  were  bold 

To  speak  the  truth  in  need: 
Dost  think  their  priceless  praise  is  thine? 

Not  so,  lest  thou  obey 
The  same  imperative  divine, 

Whate'er  it  cost  to-day. 


Thou  namest  with  a  show  of  pride 

Those  right  heroic  souls, 
Who  in  their  time  and  place  denied 

That  policy  controls: 
"We  be  the  seed  of  Abraham," 

Thou  sayest;  prove   it  then. 
Although  thy  hate  of  lie  and  sham 

In  exile  end  again. 


Prove  it;  nor  bend  obsequious  knee 

To  our  vain  gods  of  gold; 
Speak  out,  though  politic  it  be 

Thy  protest  to  withhold; 
Or  own  thy  heroes  are  thy  shame, 

Since  they  but  mark  thy  fall: 
Who  cringes  to  convention's  claim 

Denies  the  prophet's  call. 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Thou  makest  much  of  love  for  Christ, 

And  loyalty  to  Him; 
In  vain  have  substitutes  enticed, 

No  sacramental  whim 
Will  serve  thee  for  the  rite  He  gave, 

The  letter  of  His  word, 
Wherein  is  oictured  forth  the  grave 

Of  thy  redeeming  Lord. 


Thou  wilt  not  eat  the  bread  with  those 

Who  so  misplace  the  sign 
It  seemeth  thee  to  less  disclose 

The  mystery  divine; 
And  so  thou  bearest  their  contempt 

Who  count  such  caution  ill, 
Nor  guess  the  heart  of  thy  attempt 

To  realize  God's  will. 


Thou  doest  well  to  stand  in  awe 

Of  all  that  God  hath  said; 
No  lightest  letter  of  the  law 

Is  wholly  void  or  dead: 
Thou  doest  well  to  seek  God's  grace 

More  than  a  favored  fame; 
The  smile  of  His  approving  face 

Puts  every  scorn  to  shame. 


64 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

But  is  thy  zeal  so  sound  and  sure, 

From  Pharisaic  taint 
And  Scribal  scruple  so  secure 

'Tis  proof  against  complaint? 
Or  art  thou  guiltless  of  their  charge 

Who  neither  mock  nor  laugh, 
Thou  weighest  mint  and  anise  large, 

And  love  as  light  as  chaff?" 


Thou  canst  refuse  the  bread  and  cup 

To   those  whose  letter  fails, 
And  yet  thou  art  not  slow  to  sup 

With  him  whose  pride  prevails; 
At  any  cost  thou  wilt  defend 

The  symbols  of  thy  creed, 
Alas!  thou  art  a  timid  friend 

Of  him  who  slaves  for  greed. 


What  matter  though  they  count  thee  odd  ? 

Thou  hast  thy  little  shrine: 
Men  are  but  images  of  God, 

Their  hearts  but  haunts  divine, 
Wherefore  shouldst  thou  concern  thyself, 

Or  risk  thy  relics  rare, 
To  save  men  from  the  power  of  pelf, 

Or  penury's  despair? 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Nay!  keep  thy  symbols  wrapped  about 

With  consecrated  cloth, 
And  leave  the  world  to  dread  and  doubt, 

To  Mammon  and  to  moth; 
Sit  where  the  truth  is  crucified, 

And  while  His  blood  drops  start 
The  raiment  of  His  limbs  divide, 

Nor  mind  His  broken  heart. 


0  Church,  my  Church,   forgive,   forgive! 
If  I  am'  harsh  and  rude, 

But  I  could  die  if  thou  wouldst  live 

In  a  diviner  mood; 
If  thou  wouldst  care  for  rubrics  less, 

And  more  and  more  for  men, 
And  more  and  more  for  righteousness, 

Aye!  death  were  easy  then. 

1  know  thou  are  not  wholly  blind, 
Nor  dull  to  human  weal, 

I  know  thy  purposes  are  kind, 

And  thou  art  quick  to  feel 
The  hurt  of  an  outrageous  wrong, 

When  open  crime  is  rife, 
Betimes  thy  righteous  wrath  is  strong, 

And  thou  art  quick  with  life. 


66 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

I  know  thy  message  meaneth  more, 

Far  more  than  bread  alone, 
Thy  symbols  mark  themselves  a  score 

Transcending  all  the  known, 
A  symphony  of  life  sublime, 

So  vast,  so  deep,  so  high. 
The  prelude  but  begins  in  time, 

The  echoes  never  die. 


So  runs  thy  creed,  so  read  thy  signs, 

So  is  thy  heart's  desire, 
And  so  thy  ministry  inclines 

When  touched  with  tongues  of  fire ; 
Alack!  how  flares  and  flickers  low 

Each  heaven-enkindled  flame, 
Traditions  choke  and  stifle  so 

The  bright,  aspiring  aim. 


Thou  ragest  at  the  vulgar  vice, 

The  stark  and  staring  sin, 
Thou  sayest,  "Let  him  pay  the  price 

Who  murders,  foe  or  kin. 
For  common  thief  the  common  jail; 

Who  breaks  the  public  peace 
Must  suffer  if  he  do  not  quail 

And  from  his  riot  cease." 


67 


My    Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And   thou   art   flattered  when   thou   hast 

The  courage  to  condemn 
The  tippler's  tempters,  first  and  last, 

While  others  fawn  to  them; 
Or  if  thou  darest  chide  thine  own 

Whom  worldly  pleasures  please, 
Forbidding  them  that  torrid  zone 

With  its  seductive  seas. 

The  Publicans  and  harlots  know 

Thou  canst  make  sturdy  stand, 
The  brazen  dance  and  bawdy  show 

Are  fearful  of  thy  hand ; 
All  wrong  that  is  in  disrepute, 

Or  drawls  men  from  thy  fold, 
Essays  in  vain  to  make  thee  mute, 

Or  blow  thy  anger  cold. 


But  larger  ills  laugh  loud  at  thee, 

And  buy  thy  proudest  pews; 
Murder  may  philanthropic  be 

Wlien  distant  lands  refuse 
Our  gracious  will  to  govern  them, 

And  make  their  markets  pay; 
They  are  but  traitors  who  contemn 

Our  right  to  burn  and  slay. 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  stealing  is  just  business  sense, 

And  industry  and  thrift, 
Quite  in  the  line  of  Providence, 

And  economic  drift, 
When  millions  plundered  from  the  poor 

Pay  tribute  now  and  then 
To  church  and  school,  and  so  secure 

The  unctuous  praise  of  men. 

Aye!  thou  art  very  orthodox, 

And   standest   by   the   Book, 
Who  questions  its  traditions  mocks, 

Though  lovingly  he  look 
On  the  red  lines  by  prophets  penned, 

Still  crimsoned  with  their  blood 
Who  dared  both  school  and  church  offend, 

For  faith  that  God  is  good. 


Thine  was  the  righteous,  reckless  youth* 

Who  burned  to  free  the  slave, 
But  he  was  heretic  for  truth, 

And  so  thy  caution  drave 

*William  Lloyd  Garrison,  born  and  bred  a  Bap 
tist,  but  compelled  to  accept  the  hospitality  of  an 
infidel  club  to  get  a  hearing  in  Boston. 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Thy  prophet  forth,  to  speak  God's  word 

With  those  who  scorned  God's  name: 
And  yet  methfnks  that  I  have  heard 
Thy  present  priests  proclaim 

It  was  the  Church,  their  Church  of  course, 

All  orthodox  and  cool, 
Reluctant  to  resort  to  force, 

Afraid  to  play  the  fool, 
That  after  all  led  forth  the  fight 

And  roused  resistance  strong, 
And  won  the  victory  for  right, 

And   overthrew  the  wrong. 


And  some  time,  when  the  social  strife 

That  stirs  the  land  to-day, 
Hath  quickened  to  triumphant  life 

The  love  thou  sayest  nay, 
The  love  that  dares  deny  to  one 

The  wealth  God  gave  to  all, 
And  dares  affirm,  "Thy  will  be  done," 

Writes  doom  upon  the  wall. 

For  them  that  drink  their  brothers'  blood, 

And  feed  upon  their  flesh, 
And  treat  as  animated  mud 

The  bodies  that  enmesh 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

The  suffering  spirits  of  the  weak 
Who  still  are  strong  to  bear, 

And  only  impotent  to  seek 
Their  labor's  honest  share, 

Some  day,  when  pious  greed  is  stripped, 

And  with  avenging  cord 
Forth  are  the  money  changers  whipped 

By  an  indignant  Lord, 
When  man,  God's  truest  temple,  man 

And  all  his  nature  needs, 
Count  with  the  churches  larger  than 

Their  formulas  and  creeds, 

Some  day  the  sons  of  these  same  priests 

Who  stone  thy  prophets  now, 
And  fawn  and  flatter  at  thy  feasts, 

And  nod  phylacteried  brow, 
Their  sons  to  their  own  sweet  content 

Will  prove  in  that  glad  day 
It  was  their  father's  argument 

And  zeal  that  led  the  way. 

So  be  it,  if  the  right  succeed : 

Who  cares  where  credit  goes? 
Not  they  who  fight  against  all  greed, 

All  selfishness  oppose; 
Save  as  such  lies  may  lead  our  sons 

To  scorn  their  prophets  too, 
And  deaden  their  reformers'  guns, 

As  now  such  falsehoods  do. 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Who  cares?  though  back  of  half  the  zeal 

For  the  eternal  life, 
There  hides  the  fear,  one  can  but  feel, 

The  coward's  fear  of  strife; 
And  men  are  glad  to  prate  of  souls 

Who  dare  not  voice  their  own, 
Since  no  monopoly  controls 

The  "pure  old  gospel"  tone. 


Hit  hard  the  ancient  Pharisees, 

For  fJiey  are  dead  and  gone, 
And  strip  old  Herod  if  you  please 

And  lay  the  lashes  on, 
fling  if  you  will  defiant  word 

Against  the  Pope  of  Rome, 
Or  'gainst  those  foul  fanatics  gird, 

The  Mormons  here  at  home. 


Or  else  go  back  to  Adam's  fall, 

And  tell  again  the  "plan" 
Whereby  the  One  was  slain  for  all, 

And  there  is  hope  for  man 
Beyond  the  grave,  that  he  may  miss 

A  hell  of  endless  woe, 
And  win  a  heaven  of  endless  bliss 

Who  holds  the  scriptures  so. 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Advise  him  that  this  world  is  bad, 

And  daily  waxeth  worse, 
And  all  the  hope  that  it  hath  had 

Since  the  primeval  curse 
Is  in  the  Christ,  who  came  a  child, 

And  comes  again  a  King, 
To  'stonish  the  unreconciled, 

This  aeon's  end  to  bring. 


Why  fuss  though  institutions  fail? 

Their  end  is  soon  and  sure; 
And  what  do  all  reforms  avail  ? 

Christ  is  the  only  cure: 
No  other  help  may  we  expect, 

The  Church's  work  is  found 
To  aid  Him  gather  His  elect, 

And  wait  the  trumpet  sound. 


Or  preach  with  pious  platitudes, 

And  philosophic  air, 
Esthetic  words  and  attitudes, 

Preach  down  all  dull  despair; 
And  tell  the  world  that  all  is  well 

That  things  are  working  out 
The  end  of  every  evil  spell, 

Of  death,  disease,  and  doubt. 


73 


My    Country  and  Other   Verse. 

Tell  men  that  they  are  better  now 

Than  they  have  ever  been, 
Massage  the  anxious,  troubled  brow, 

And  close  their  eyes  to  sin ; 
Feed  them  with  phrase-confections  oft, 

And  lull  their  languorous  minds 
With  lullabies  as  low  and  soft 

As  summer  evening  winds. 


So  shall  they  listen  to  thy  wrath 

Against  an  ancient  foe, 
And  calmly  mark  the  downward  path 

Of  sins  they  do  not  know, 
And  do  their  own  devices  still 

Untroubled,  undeterred 
From  present  profitable  ill 

By  one  disturbing  word. 


So  shall  they  reason,  "What's  the  use 

Of  fighting  these  concerns? 
For  vainly  we  correct  abuse 

Until  our  Lord  returns ; 
So  we  can  check  the  viler  vice, 

The  cruder  unbelief, 
And  lead  to  Him  who  paid  the  price 

And  promises  relief." 


74 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

"We  shall  do  better  than  to  waste 

The  few  remaining  hours, 
Wherein  we  needs  must  work  with  haste 

Against  infernal  powers, 
In  striving  to  reform  a  world 

Which  hastens  to  its  doom, 
While  every  moment  souls  are  hurled 

To  death  beyond  the  tomb." 


"Since  institutions  rise  and  fall, 

The  creatures  of  a  day, 
Who  saves  men's  souls  does  more  than  all, 

For  men  live  on  for  aye; 
And  lo,  He  comes,  He  comes  in  cloud 

To  take  His  royal  throne, 
Soon  shall  He  judge  both  poor  and  proud, 

Soon  shall  He  right  His  own." 


Say  they  not  well,  in  face  of  this? 

Faith  is  th'  oppressor's  friend, 
Beguiling  men  with  bribe  of  bliss 

From  purpose  to  defend 
Their  rights  as  men  to  equal  share 

Of  present  weal  and  worth, 
Their  will  to  break  the  back  of  care, 

And  banish  want  from  earth. 


75 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Say  they  not  well  ?  who  dare  deride 

This  relic  of  a  race 
Whose  lust  for  spectacle  defied 

The  Saviour's  gentle  grace: 
This  childish  creed  of  drum  and  fife, 

And  strutting  Caesar-Christ, 
Whose  tinselled  everlasting  life 

Is  vastly  over-priced. 


Say  they  not  well  who  would  prefer 

For  such  a  gilded  god, 
The  sovereignty  of  character 

In  either  cloud  or  clod ; 
Who  worship  neither  show  nor  force, 

But  only  light,  and  love, 
Nor  will  and  wisdom  can  divorce, 

Nor  here,  nor  yet  above? 


And  if  thou  hold  a  multitude, 

So  strong  are  human  needs, 
And  if  thou  give,  instead  of  food, 

Such  images  and  beads, 
What  shall  it  profit  thee  for  strength? 

Since  as  they  children  grow 
They  must  forsake  thy  fold  at  length, 

Wherever  else  they  go. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Nor  will  they  stay  for  broader  faith, 

If  it  is  dead  to  life, 
No  tenuous,  transcendental  wraith 

Can  lead  the  present  strife, 
No  optimism  of  conceit 

And  self-indulgent  ease, 
Can  wrest  the  mighty  from  their  seat 

Or  steer  through  stormy  seas. 


Dost  note  the  swelling  swish  of  skirts? 

And  mark  thy  want  of  men  ? 
And  is  it  love,  or  pride,  that  hurts 

And  moves  thy  tongue  and  pen 
To  answer  why  the  workers  pass 

By  thy  beseeching  gate, 
And  why  so  few  of  all  the  mass 

Before  thine  altars  wait? 


While  Dives,  living,  comes  and  sits 

And  smiles,  and  wrags  his  head, 
To  hear  thy  often  happy  hits 

At  some  old  Dives  dead ; 
And  Pilate  dares  again  to  lave, 

With  what  pretense  he  can, 
Within  thy  deep  baptismal  wave, 

But  crucifies  the  Man. 


77 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Thou  hast  thy  tens  of  thousands  yet 

Both  earnest  and  sincere, 
Thy  words  help  many  to  forget 

Or  meet  their  cares  with  cheer, 
The  good  thou  doest  is  not  small, 

Nor  are  thy  converts  few, 
Nor  scant  the  charities  that  fall 

From  thee,  like  heavenly  dew. 


Thy  ministers  are  often  meii 

Of  manly,  Christ-like  mould, 
Thy  missionaries  prove  again 

Apostles  strong  and  bold, 
And  many  of  thy  teaching  host 

Who  feed  the  lambs  of  Christ, 
Might  much  of  loving  labor  boast, 

And  comfort  sacrificed. 


All  this  thou  hast,  and  even  more, 

No  blood  of  heretics 
Lieth  against  thine  ancient  door, 

No  small  dogmatic  cliques 
Have  lorded  o'er  thy  heritage, 

Or  sapped  thy  life's  support, 
Or  poisoned  thee  with  the  red  rage 

Of  carping  creedal  court. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  yet,  not  wholly  guiltless  thou 

Of  scorning  prophet  souls, 
With  biting  lip,  and  burning  brow, 

And  talk  of  script  and  scrolls  ; 
Thou  wilt  not  to  tribunals  hale, 

Nor  formal  verdicts  pass, 
Nor  vigh  in  the  official  scale 

Of  '  is1. op  or  of  class; 


B  it  thou  wilt  force  the  man  to  choose 

To  yield  his  daily  bread, 
Ar  1  memories  that  mean  more  to  lose 

'^  'han  ever  creed  hath  said, 
Or  else  refrain  to  say  the  word 
That  God  hath  made  him  feel, 
The  thing  he  hath  most  surely  heard, 
And  doth  not  dare  conceal. 


Thou  sayest,  "Let  him  find  a  fold 

That  answers  to  his  thought." 
But  there  are  messages  untold 

No  church  hath  ever  taught ; 
And  truth  hath  accents  far  too  fine 

For  any  rote  of  rules, 
Thou  canst  not  limit  the  divine, 

Nor  shape  it  to  the  schools. 


79 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Thou  art  not  quite  a  church  of  God 

Until  God's  man  may  speak, 
Nor  even  be  accounted  odd 

If  he  uphold  the  weak; 
Or  if  he  question  form  and  phrase 

And  dare  prefer  the  new, 
So  that  he  walk  in  righteous  ways, 

And  prove  his  spirit  true. 


Who  leaves  thee  for  the  right  to  say 

One  word  for  human  kind, 
Though  many  of  the  mighty  stay, 

He  proves  thee  poor  and  blind, 
If  so  thou  scoff  him  from  thy  side, 

And  give  him  cause  to  claim 
The  full  of  freedom  was  denied, 

Or  offered  him  with  shame. 


Or  if  he  find  thy  scripture  texts 

Not  wholly  without  flaw, 
If  honored  dogma  he  corrects 

By  larger  light  of  law, 
And  thou  refuse  his  honest  search, 

And  frown  him  from  his  place, 
Thou  art  the  heretic,  O  Church ! 

And  thine  is  the  disgrace. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

He  only  is  untrue  to  truth 

Who  loves  opinion  more, 
His  very  right  is  wrong,  forsooth, 

Who  merely  mumbles  o'er 
Some  superficial  Shibboleth 

He  hath  been  taught  to  tell, 
As  if  the  shaping  of  a  breath 

Made  either  heaven  or  hell. 


Thy  droning  scribes  with  proud  pretense 

Their  commentaries  cite, 
And  with  their  words  obscure  the  sense 

Of  simple  truth  and  right, 
And  thou  wouldst  have  us  hark  to  them, 

And  ape  each  trick  of  tone, 
But  all  unheard  the  man  condemn 

Whose  message  is  his  own. 


Or  else,  with  old  Gamaliel, 

Too  dignified  to  scoff, 
Thou  sayest,  "Time  alone  can  tell  ; 

Hold  persecutions  off, 
And  let  them  go,  if  they  will  curb 

Their  riot-making  talk, 
And  cease  their  efforts  to  disturb 

The  order  of  our  walk." 


81 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

So  says  the  Sadducee,  who  fears 

Disturbance  more  than  doubt, 
But  the  stern  zealot  hardly  hears, 

Or  only  hears  to  scout; 
Soon  is  the  sword  unsheathed  to  slay 

Some  brother  of  the  Lord, 
And  they  who  dare  to  preach  the  way 

Are  scattered  with  the  word. 


But  though  the  zealot  raves,  and  throws 

Hard  at  the  martyr's  face, 
Shall  not  the  man  who  keeps  his  clothes 

Still  stand  in  Stephen's  place? 
A  nobler  Stephen  after  all, 

And  his  a  grander  stage, 
For  Caesar's  household  heareth  Paul. 

And  each  succeeding  age. 


What  though  thy  legalists  pursue 

Thy  Pauls  by  land  and  sea? 
Thy  synagogues  reject  the  new, 

And  make  its  heralds  flee? 
And  even  Peter,  though  he  glimpse 

The  broader  bounds  of  grace, 
Halts  in  his  liberty,  and  limps 

Before  the  zealot's  face? 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

What  though  the  long,  long  centime* 

Darken  again  the  morn? 
And  out  of  strife  with  heresies 

Another  Church  is  born 
That  gilds  and  glorifies  the  Cross, 

But  wears  a  fool's-cap  crown, 
And  counting  circumcision  loss 

Hands  heavier  ritual  down? 


Shall  they  despair  who  love  the  truth, 

And  cannot  love  a  lie? 
Although  the  lie  renew  its  youth 

When  just  about  to  die. 
Or  shall  they  battle  on  in  hope, 

And  spite  of  doubts  and  fears, 
Determined  with  the  lie  to  cope 

Through  any  length  of  years  ? 


And  wilt  thou  help,  or  wilt  thou  hurt? 

Church  I  have  loved  so  long ; 
Wilt  shake  thy  prophets  from  thy  skirt? 

Or  bid  their  hearts  be  strong? 
Wilt  mark  the  motes  of  other  sects, 

And  thine  own  beams  deny? 
Or  wilt  thou  cast  off  thy  defects 

At  cost  of  hand  or  eye? 


83 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Perchance  thou  thinkest  I  presume: 

Ah!  if  I  could  but  know 
The  fires  which  in  my  bones  consume 

Would  warm  thy  fields  of  snow, 
And  start  one  trickling  stream  to  run 

Where  the  parched  pastures  wait, 
Thou  couldst  disown  me  as  thy  son, 

Nor  mark  my  lonely  fate. 


Methinks  that  I  could  be  content, 

Though  craving  thy  caress, 
However  hard  my  fortunes  went, 

To  know  thy  failures  less ; 
And  satisfied  to  be  forgot, 

If  men  remembered  thee 
As  one  who  led  where  fires  were  hot. 

And  bled  to  make  men  free. 


Oft  have  I  said,  "I  will  be  still, 

And  slip  away  in  peace." 
I  could  not  so  convince  my  will, 

The  burning  would  not  cease. 
Yet  who  am  I,  to  chide  at  thee? 

One  child  amid  the  host ; 
Think  kindly  as  thou  canst  of  me, 

This  is  my  only  boast. 


84 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

O  Church  which  I  have  loved  and  served 

With  joy  for  many  years, 
Whose  faith  fell  from  my  mother's  lips 

Upon  by  infant  ears, 
Whose  benedictions  soothed  me,  when 

I  laid  my  dead  a\vay, 
Out  of  the  love  I  bear  for  thee 

So  have  I  said  to-day. 

Reno,  Nevada,  November  8-13,  1902. 


INSPIRATION. 

ONCE  on  a  day  it  filled  me 

With    queler   questjionings   and   qualms 
When  somebody  suggested 

David  didn't  write  the  Psalms, 
And  there  were  two  Isaiahs 

Who  composed  that  splendid  book 
And  it  wasn't  at  all  likely 

Moses  penned  the  Pentateuch. 

The  story  of  Creation 

Was  harmonious  no  more, 
Like  the  rivers  out  of  Eden 

So  the  streams  at  least  were  four 


85 


My   Country  and  Other   Verse. 

Of  varying  tradition, 

Flowing  from  some  common  source, 
But  very  much  divergent 

All  along  their  after  course. 


There  wasn't  any  Eden, 

And  there  wasn't  any  fall, 
And  there  wasn't  any  serpent 

That  could  talk,  and  didn't  crawl; 
There  was  a  man  and  woman, 

And  somehow  the  mischief  came, 
And  every  one  admitted 

That  the  woman  was  to  blame. 


But  the  stories  of  the  Patriarchs 

Were  largely  legendary, 
Perhaps  they  were  real  men,  perhaps 

They  were  imaginary, 
Their  <(epics"  and  their  "idyls" 

Told  with  more  or  less  of  tact, 
Weren't  worth  a  continental 

As  a  chronicle  of  fact. 

And  Israel  worshipped  "Yahweh," 
Not  "Our  Father"  wise  and  good, 

But  a  god  of  storm  and  battle, 
Who  was  never  done  with  blood, 


86 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  David  had  his  household  gods, 

And  wasn't  half  heroic, 
And  Solomon  was  hardly  more 

A  Christian  than  a  Stoic. 


And  "the  Institutes  of  Moses," 

Were  not  instituted  then, 
But  were  shaped  in  after  centuries 

By  very  different  men, 
When  prophetic  inspirations, 

Given  like  some  grand  Te  Deum, 
Were  fixed  up  for  automatons 

To  play  in  some  museum. 


And  the  Gospels  are  not  always 

To  be  taken  out  and  out; 
That  "the  Three"  had  common  sources 

There  is  hardly  room  for  doubt, 
And  in  the  main  their  narrative 

Is  quite  a  sound  relation, 
Though  "John's"  is  less  a  history 

Than  an  interpretation. 

Not  even  Paul's  infallible, 
Although  a  "grand  old  man," 

Since  his  schooling  and  environment 
Were  wrought  into  his  "plan;" 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  none  of  the  Apostles 

Knew  the  Master  without  measure, 
Though  as  His  first  interpreters 

They  left  a  priceless  treasure. 


With  holy  indignation 

Such  conclusions  I  defied, 
I  scorned  the  Higher  Critics, 

And  their  learning  set  aside, 
I  looked  on  Evolution 

As  an  interloper  then, 
And  insisted  that  the  Bible 

Was  God's  final  word  to  men. 

But  I  found  that  Inspiration 

Didn't  need  my  timid  zeal, 
That  the  heart  of  Revelation 

Had  no  hurt  for  me  to  heal, 
And  although  I  lost  the  letter, 

When  my  images  were  gone 
I  found  the  spirit  better 

For  my  soul  to  look  upon. 

And  I  don't  care  whether  Moses 
Wrote  the  Pentateuch  or  not, 

Or  if  there  were  ten  Isaiahs 

Whom  the  fires  of  God  made  hot, 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Or  who  said,  "The  Lord's  my  Shepherd," 
Since  I  know  the  Shepherd's  care, 

And  I  walk  by  the  still  waters, 
In  the  pastures  green  and  fair. 

And  since  I've  learned  of  Jesus, 

And  the  blessed  ways  He  went, 
And  have  read  His  holy  messages, 

And  caught  at  their  intent, 
I'm  not  afraid  of  losing  Him 

Because  the  schools  advise 
That  some  paltry  scraps  of  circumstance 

They  cannot  harmonize. 

So  I  read  in  Paul's  theology, 

And  I,  like  Paul,  am  free, 
As  he  was  counted  heretic 

So  may  they  reckon  me, 
But  the  spirit  that  illumined  him 

Illumines  me  to-day, 
And  I  call  no  man  my  Master, 

But  I  hark  what  God  will  say. 

Thank  God  for  all  the  prophets 

Who  have  spoken  in  the  past, 
For  His  "peculiar  people," 

Though  they  failed  the  truth  at  last 
Thank  God  their  cruel  Yahweh 

Found  some  yearnings  unsufficed, 
Till  the  dull  dawn  brightened  slowly 

To  the  noon-day  of  the  Christ. 
89 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  still,  still  God  is  with  us,    , 

Lighting  all  this  earth  of  ours  ; 
The  fogs  are  lifting,  breaking, 

And  responsive  to  the  powers 
Of  the  sunshine  that  is  flooding 

Every  wonted  haunt  of  gloom, 
The  springtime  of  humanity 

Is  hastening  toward  the  bloom. 

Ukiah,  California,  April  9,  1902. 


THE  GREAT  HERESY. 

I  FEAR  no  more  the  blatant  cry 

Of  that  crude  unbelief, 
Which  mocks  at  God,  and  dares  deny 

With  hardly  show  of  grief, 
That  recompense  of  all  our  strife — 
The  hope  of  the  eternal  life. 

Let  atheist  and  agnostic  prate, 
The  heart  of  man  will  crave 

A  better  deity  than  fate, 
An  end  beyond  the  grave, 

Deny  religion  as  he  will 

Man's  heart  remains  religious  still. 


oo 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

The  Higher  Critics !  God  forbid 
That  they  should  make  me  start; 

Or  shall  I  do  as  Uzzah  did, 
And  fear  a  quaking  cart? 

I  thank  God  that  I  understand 

He  holds  the  ark  with  His  own  hand. 


I  trust  that  light  shall  still  shine  forth 

Upon  the  sacred  page, 
And  so  the  Bible's  matchless  worth 

Increase  from  age  to  age. 
Speak  out,  ye  critics!  say  your  say, 
The  word  of  God  shall  live  for  aye. 


I  fear  no  heresy  but  this: 

The  unbelief  that  still 
Betrays  the  Master  with  a  kiss, 

And  in  His  name  does  ill ; 
Like  Judas,  counted  with   His  friends, 
But  seeking  only  selfish  ends. 

The  unbelief  that  bows  and  prays 
And  builds  up  shrine  and  fane, 

But  grinds  the  poor  through  cruel  days, 
And  barters  right  for  gain; 

So  sure  of  God,  so  self-sufficed, 

It  daily  crucifies  the  Christ. 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

The  infidelity  that  stalks 

In  pulpit,  gown  and  stole, 
And  with  a  pious  unction  talks 

Of  Christ  who  maketh  whole, 
But  still,  afraid  to  dare  the  strong 
Worships  the  throned  and  feted  wrong. 


More  than  the  atheist  I  fear 
The  man  of  Christian  name 

Who  meets  with  careless  laugh  or  sneer 
The  holy  gospel's  claim 

That,  spite  of  all  beneath  the  sun, 

God's  will  on  earth  shall  yet  be  done. 

Is  he  the  scoffer  who  rejects 

Some  dogma  of  the  church? 
Or  he  who  reverences  texts 

But  scouts  the  earnest  search 
Of  earnest  souls  for  all  things  good 
Which  make  for  human  brotherhood? 

I  scorn  no  creed  which  men  confess 

If  it  is  held  in  love, 
And  if  they  follow  none  the  less 

The  Master  mind  above; 
I  scorn  all  creeds  which  make  men  blind 
Against  their  duty  to  mankind. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Arch  heretic  is  he,  I  say, 

Who  fails  in  love  of  man, 
However  much  he  prate  or  pray 

About  salvation's  plan. 
This  truth  of  truths  is  still  the  test : 
They  love  God  most  who  serve  men  best. 

Oakland,  Cal.,  November  28,  1898. 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  BAD. 

IT  used  to  cloud  the  sunshine 

In  my  most  hopeful  mood, 
To  see  the  folly  of  the  wise, 

The  badness  of  the  good. 
But  now  when  I  am  bluest 

It  almost  makes  me  glad, 
To  note  the  wisdom  of  the  fool, 

The  goodness  of  the  bad. 

'Tis  easy  to  find  folly, 

If  that  is  what  you  seek, 
For  there  are  faults  in  everyone, 

The  strongest  men  are  weak; 
Who  looks  for  something  better, 

Though  often  pained  and  sad, 
Will  find  a  world  of  comfort  in 

The  goodness  of  the  bad. 


93 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

There  is  no  man  so  stupid 

But  he  has  gleams  of  sense, 
And  deeper  than  all  depths  of  sir 

Are  depths  of  innocence; 
And  spite  of  every  triumph 

That  sin  has  ever  had, 
No  one  can  quite  deny  some  bit 

Of  goodness  in  the  bad. 

Some  hero  in  the  coward, 

Some  angel  in  the  clod, 
And  in  the  wickedest  of  men 

Some  faintest  trace  of  God; 
Something  of  truth  and  beauty 

In  every  fraud  and  fad; 
So  shines  through  evil's  darkest  night 

The  goodness  of  the  bad. 


O  soul  of  mine,  be  patient! 

For  falsehood  seemeth  strong, 
And  men  are  slow  to  do  the  right, 

And  swift  to  do  the  wrong; 
Heed  not  to-day's  illusion, 

Nor  deem  men  wholly  mad, 
But  let  thine  eyes  with  joy  behold 

The  goodness  of  the  bad. 

Reno,  Nevada,  May  16,  1902. 
94 


My    Country  and  Other   Verse. 


RESURRECTION. 

No  real  man  ever  fails;  his  projects  may, 
But  he  himself  can  never  know  defeat. 
He  may  be  forced  to  semblance  of  retreat; 

He  may  not  conquer  in  his  chosen  way, 

And  men  may  mock,  or  pity  him,  and  say, 
"Behold  the  Man!"  and  nail  him  hands  and  feet 
High  on  some  staring  cross,  where  he  may  meet 

The  death  of  thieves,  and  none  shall  say  them  nay. 

None  say  them  nay?    And  if  he  be  a  Son 

Of  God  indeed,  while  wine  of  wrath  they  quaff, 
Lo,  He  that  sitteth  in  the  heavens  shall  laugh, 
For  that  He  seeth  e'er  three  days  are  done, 
The  death  of  Death,  and  how  they  raged  in 

vain 

Who  thought  that  the  divine  Man  could  be 
slain. 

San  Francisco,  California,  March  22,  1902. 


95 


©f|0u  Art 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


AFTERWARDS. 

SINCE  thou  art  gone  from  me  the  days  drag  on 
Like  limb-chained   convicts,   keeping  step  per 
force 
In  the  dull  round  of  their  relentless  course, 

With  neither  laugh  nor  word ;  since  thou  art  gone 

The  years  before  me  seem  an  endless  length, 
No  more  delighting  me  with  happy  view 
Of  dreams  unrealized  which  may  come  true, 

But  grief  hath  found  a  sorrow  in  my  strength: 

Wherefore  should  I  succeed  ?  to  drink  alone 
The  nectar  that  I  chiefly  ciaved  for  thee; 

That  hath  no  sweetness,  save  thou  sip  it  first? 

Thy  love  can  only  satisfy  my  thirst: 
The  cup  is  empty  honor  proffers  me, 

Since  thou  art  gone  from  me  to  realms  unknown. 

Since  thou  art  gone  from  me  mine  eyes  have  seen 
More  than  a  thousand  leagues  of  sea  and  land, 
Dowered  divinely  from  the  Father's  hand 

With  springtime  loveliness,  and  summer  sheen ; 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  I  have  walked  through    miles   of    splendid 

streets, 

Have  seen  the  last  displays  of  human  art, 
Have  shared  the  tumult  of  the  crowded  mart 

And  felt  how  strong  the  pulse  of  commerce  beats. 

Yet  what  avails  it  that  the  world  is  fair? 

And  man  is  mighty  in  his  little  way? 
No  balm  is  found  for  the  sad-hearted  there: 

Death  mocks  man's  might,   and  touches  with 

decay 

All  that  is  lovely;  can  the  crowd  restore 
The  one  dear  face  that  answers  mine  no  more? 

I  do  not  murmur;  thou  art  gone  from  me 
By  no  mischance,  nor  law  of  soulless  fate; 
I  know  not  where  thou  art,  nor  what  thy  state 

But  knowing  God  I  know  'tis  well  with  thee. 

Some  happy  purpose  marked  thy  going  hence, 
For  thee  and  me ;  mayhap  the  whole  design 
Lies  open  there,  the  tangled  ends  are  mine, 

And  yet  I  trust  me  in  God's  providence. 

For  I  had  never  loved  thee,  never  known 
True  fellowship  with  thy  believing  soul, 
Touched  with  the  glory  of  the  Father's  face, 

If  I  could  doubt,  now  that  I  walk  alone, 
Thy  high  desire  hath  found  its  glorious  goal 
And  faith  and  hope  are  justified  of  grace. 


99 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Nor  do  I  yield  one  jot  of  will  to  serve 

Unto  the  utmost  of  God's  thought  for  me; 
For  I  were  infidel  to  Him  and  thee 

If  weight  of  grief  could  my  devotion  swerve. 

Life  has  some  sweetness  yet,  without  pretence 
Of  joys  I  cannot  feel  since  thou  art  gone: 
My  heart  is  glad  God's  purposes  go  on, 

And  I  would  fain  have  part  in  their  defence. 


Heaven  asks  no  more,  I  trow,  of  them  that  weep, 
Or  bear  the  heartache  that  is  worse  than  tears, 

Than  just  their  trust  in  God's  good  will  to  keep, 
And  to  be  filial  toward  Him  through  the  years. 

Since  thou  are  gone  'tis  more  and  more  my  will 

To  love  Him,  trust  Him,  and  to  serve  Him  still. 


IOC 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


A  YEAR. 

IT  seemeth  like  eternity, 

This  year  since  thou  art  gone, 
So  heavily,  so  wearily, 

The  days  have  travelled  on; 
I  cannot  make  it  but  a  year 
Since  thou  wert  here. 

Yet  it  was  only  yesterday 

I  had  thee  in  my  arms, 
And  laughed  and  chatted  merrily, 

And  made  light  of  alarms, 
Nor  knew  how  Death  was  wooing  thee 
Away  from  me. 

And  then  'twas  surely  centuries 
The  dreadful  dream  was  on, 

The  nightmare  of  thy  maladies, 
And  waking,  thou  wert  gone. 

Have  I  lain  palpitating  here 
Only  a  year? 

Why  it  was  years  that  pallid  face 

So  like,  so  unlike  thee, 
Refused  in  spite  of  words  and  tears 

Even  a  smile  to  me; 
And  many  winters'  cold  eclipse 
Lay  on  thy  lips. 

101 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

A  long,  long  year  they  talked  and  prayed 

Above  thy  coffined  clay, 
Another  year  we  journeyed  forth 

To  lay  thy  form,  away, 
And  through  an  age  of  grief  I  took 
That  last,  last  look. 

Kow  slow  the  aeons  pass  since  then, 
Though  others  call  them  days ; 

My  soul  goes  searching  everywhere, 
Inquiring  for  thy  ways: 

'Tis  longer  than  my  fancy's  flight 
From  morn  to  night. 

Grief  hath  its  own  dark  calendar 
None  but  the  sorrowing  know; 

Time  hath  no  scales  to  weigh  the  hours 
Of  those  who  walk  with  woe: 

And  all  its  measures  mark  in  vain 
The  length  of  pain. 

It  seemeth  like  eternity, 

This  year  since  thou  are  gone ; 
So  heavily,  so  wearily, 

The  days  have  travelled  on: 
I  cannot  make  it  but  a  year 
Since  thou  wert  here. 

Ukiah,  California,  April  23,  1902. 

102 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


TWO  MYSTERIES. 

MY   sweetheart   looked   up  softly 

From  the  sofa  where  she  lay, 
One  sunny,  Sunday  afternoon 

Before  she  went  away, 
Before  I   knew  her  illness 

Was  more  than  a  passing  cloud, 
And  said,  half  to  herself  I  think, 

As  if  she  mused  aloud: 

"How  strange  death  is:"  and  wonderingly 

I  answered  only,  "Yes, — 
Why  do  you  say  so  darling?" 

And  with  that  same  far-off-ness 
She  made  reply  as  quietly, 

"Oh,  I  was  thinking  then 
How  little  we  know  of  it;" 

And  she  turned  to  dreams  again. 

There  followed  weeks  of  agony, 

When  little  as  I  knew 
Of  that  vast,  awful  mystery 

Which  ever  nearer  drew, 
The  promise  of  relief  from  pain 

Such  rainbow  glory  cast 
Against  the  dull,  dark  skies  of  doubt, 

Death  seemed  to  smile  at  last. 
103 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Was  it  a  smile,  or  did  I  dream? 

So  grimly  silent  since 
Is  he  who  led  my  loved  away 

I  cannot  help  but  wince; 
As  glad  as  ever  that  her  pain 

Went  from  her  in  that  breath, 
But  oh, — but  oh,   the  mystery, — 

The  mystery  of  death. 


"How  little  we  know  of  it," 

When  our  boldest  words  are  said, 
Nor  even  know  our  ignorance 

Until  our  own  are  dead, 
And  then, — ah  then,  how  commonplace 

Our  wonted  words  of  cheer, 
How  vague  the  best  that  faith  can  say, 

How  huge  our  doubts  appear. 


"How  little  we  know  of  it," 

Though  philosophies  are  rife. 
Yet,  is  death  more  a  mystery 

Than  that  which  we  call  life? 
We  are,  but  know  not  whence  we  are, 

Nor  whither,  nor  yet  why. 
Is  it  not  just  as  strange  we  live 

As  it  is  that  wre  die? 


104 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Do  our  dead  wonder  less  at  us 

Than  we  are  mazed   at  them? 
Are  they  as  grieved  that  we  are  deaf? 

And  do  they  try  to  stem 
Our  tears,  our  cries,  our  questionings, 

Which  else  might  whelm  us  quite? 
And  marvel  when  their  veils  are  off 

We  cannot  see  the  light? 


Perhaps  they  pity  us  with  tears, 

And  count  us  stiff  and  cold ; 
Perhaps  console  each  other  there 

With  comfort  just  as  old, 
And  sigh,  and  say,  "How  strange  life  is, 

How  little  do  they  know 
Of  what  they  reckon  life  and  death, 

Our  loved  and  lost  below." 

Ukiah,  California,  April  25-26,  1902. 


105 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


WHEN  DEATH  IS  PAST. 

WHAT  happened,  dear, 

That  night  you  went  away? 
A  moment  you   were  here, 

Then  naught  but  clay; 
A  gasp,  a  breath, 

A  shiver  through  and  through, 
We  called  the  mystery,  Death, 

But  what  say  you? 

Was  there  no  you 

After  that  fateful  gasp? 
Nothing  beyond  our  view? 

Beyond  our  clasp? 
But  stiffening  flesh? 

And  stony,  staring  eyes? 
Are  faith  and  hope  a  mesh 

Of  luckless  lies? 

As  well  believe 

That  you  have  never  been, 
If  love  can  so  deceive 

Then  love  is  sin; 
And  only  fools 

Will  talk  of  sense  and  right 
If  men  are  but  the  tools 

Of  such  blind  spite. 
106 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Let  me  confess 

I  know  not  where  you  went, 
And  can  but  vaguely  guess 

What  the  change  meant; 
But  that  you  are, 

As  truly  as  you  were, 
Is  clearer,  surer  far 

Than  that  men  err. 


Yet  how  or  where 

I  ask,  and  ask  in  vain; 
In  far  off  realms  of  air, 

As  some  maintain, 
Or  close  beside, 

About  me  day  by  day, 
Eager  to  help  and  guide, 

I  cannot  say. 


Or  if,  again, 

With  something  like  our  birth, 
Mid  a  new  race  of  men, 

On  some  new  earth, 
To  you  was  given 

Another  start  in  life, 
One  farther  stage  toward  heaven, 

The  end  of  strife. 


107 


My  Country  and  Other  Vene. 

Or,  as  we  fain 

Would  have  the  future  be, 
From  sorrow,  sin,  and  pain 

Forever  free, 
Ourselves  the  same, 

Our  consciousness  intact, 
With  neither  change  of  name, 

Nor  change  of  fact, 


Save  as  beyond 

Love  shall  have  larger  range, 
And  many  shall  be  fond 

Who  here  were  strange, 
And  life,  for  all, 

Shall  take  on  larger  scope. 
How,  how  shall  it  befall? 

How  shall  we  hope? 


We  do  not  know, 

Nor  signs,  nor  symbols  tell, 
We  prattle  so  and  so 

Of  heaven  and  hell, 
But  none  return 

To  map  the  shores  of  doom, 
Nor  can  our  eyes  discern 

Beyond  the  tomb. 


108 


My  Country  and  Other  frersc. 

Not  eyes,  but  hearts 

Are  Death's  interpreters, 
The  hope  that  in  us  starts, 

The  faith  that  stirs, 
The  love  of  life, 

And  more,  the  life  of  love, 
Though  questionings  are  rife, 

All  point  above. 


And  we  are  sure, 

Wherever  they  have  gone, 
The  faithful  and  the  pure 

Who  have  passed  on, 
That  right  is  right 

Wherever  God  is  God, 
And  life,  and  love,  and  light 

Are  more  than  sod. 


We  need  no  touch 

Of  groping,  ghostly  hands; 
Scorning  so  crude  a  crutch 

The  true  soul  stands 
Its  own  best  proof — 

For  sound  and  sense  may  lie 
That  we  are  of  such  woof 

We  cannot  die. 


109 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Who  asks  for  more? 

Or  who  hath  need  to  know? 
What  matter  to  what  shore 

Our  ships  may  go? 
What  matter  how 

The  haven  prove  at  last? 
Since  God  guides  then,  as  now, 

When  death  is  past. 


What  happened,  dear, 

That  night  you  went  away? 
I  will  not  wait  to  hear 

What  spooks  shall  say; 
My  heart  affirms, 

Whatever  ways  we  wend, 
That  nothingness  and  worms 

Are  not  love's  end. 

Ukiah,  California,  April  26-28.  1903. 


no 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 
MEMORIALS. 

WHEN  I  was  younger,  and  my  birthdays  came 

Farther  apart,  in  youth's  impetuous  thought, 
I  kept  them  merrily  with  gift  and  game, 

And    kindly    words    which    my    acquaintance 

brought, 
Nor  once  rmjagined  others  might  be  sad, 

And  that  the  day  I    hailed    with    boisterous 

breath 
Might  mean,  to  many  who  were  once  as  glad, 

Heart-breaking  memories  as  hard  as  death. 

And  while  my  sweetheart  still  abode  with  me 

We  kept  our  wedding  day  with  cloudless  cheer, 
In  love  so  perfect  it  was  bliss  to  be: 

We  half  begrudged  the  passing  of  the  year, 
Yet  greeted  gratefully  the  gladsome  morn, 

Nor  recked  of  others  who  had  loved  as  well, 
To  whom  the  day  was  hapless  and  forlorn, 

The  distant  echo  of  a  funeral  knell. 

Now  that  my  calendar  is  often  marked 

With  mute  reminders  of  my  loved  and  lost  ; 
The  stain  of  tears  that  fell  when  they  embarked 

Who  one   by   one   the   Stygian   stream   have 

crossed, 
Shall  I  forget,  though  the  tears  start  anew, 

Someone  is  happy  even  while  I  weep? 
'Tis  some  one's  birthday,  just  as  brightly  blue 

As  any  I  have  had  the  joy  to  keep, 
in 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Or  when  the  dreaded  day  swings  slowly  round 

Whereon  we  parted  who  were  one  indeed, 
Though  the  blood  flows  the  freer  from  the  wound 

That  hath  not  for  a  moment  ceased  to  bleed, 
Shall  I  forget,  or  to  rejoice  refuse 

When  I  remember  such  an1  hour  as  this 
Some  bride  and  groom  perchance  as  theirs  may 
choose, 

Or  mark  as  the  memorial  of  their  bliss? 

Let  me  not  sadden  with  one  thought  of  grief 

Their  glad  remembrances  who  laugh  to-day  ; 
God  give  them  joy,  and  help  us  find  relief, 

Who  walk  with  Memory  a  shadowed  way, 
Even  in  their  delight,  though  we  may  feel 

Their  merriment  a  mockery  of  our  tears: 
Somewhere,  to  someone,  every  day  brings  weal, 

Somewhere   the  sunshine    always   warms   and 
cheers. 

All  days  are  good  days,  even  here  and  now, 

The  wide  world  over;  spite  of  all  distress, 
Spite  of  the  tearful  eye,  the  clouded  brow, 

There  is  no  day  but  hath  its  happiness: 
For  men  were  mlade  for  laughter,  not  for  sighs, 

And  all  who  weep,  and  will,  may  laugh  again, 
'Tis  grief  that  passes,  misery  that  dies, 

And  everlasting  joy  that  beckons  men. 

Ukiah,  California,  April  7,  1902. 

112 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


PERVERSITY. 

O  DEATH,  thou  art  so  swift  and  bold 

To  strike  the  joyous  down, 
Thou  art  so  jealous  of  the  fold 

Which  has  not  felt  thy  frown, 
When  love  makes  life  a  heaven  on  earth 

Thou  canst  not  bear  to  wait, 
Nor  bide  the  music  of  our  mirth, 

But  thou  must  force  the  gate. 


O  Death,  thou  art  so  strangely  shy 

Of  them  that  wait  for  thee, 
The  broken  heart,  and  weeping  eye 

Thou  canst  not  seem  to  see, 
When  sorrow  takes  the  place  of  cheer. 

And  loved  ones  smile  no  more, 
Thou  wilt  not  even  venture  near 

The  mourner's  open  door. 

Reno,  Nevada,  November  20,  1902. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


THE  LAST  TROTH. 

WHEN  you  were  dying,  dear,  I  promised  you 

To  play  the  man : 

And  as  I  can 
To  that  last  troth  I  hold  my  spirit  true. 

There  are  who  think  it  womanish  to  weep, 

Though  Jesus  wept 

When  Lazarus  slept, 
And  yet  He  came  to  wake  him  from  his  sleep. 

There  have  been  hours  I  could  not  stem  my  tears, 

When  the  wet  eye 

Washed  life's  dark  sky 
As  summer  storm  the  sultry  evening  clears. 

Is  it  unmanly  if  I  weep  alone? 

Since  oftenwhile 

I  sing  and  smile 
That  none  may  see  the  tear,  or  hear  the  groan. 

Nay,  I  am  not  ashamed,  it  is  not  pride; 

I  play  no  part 

In  open  mart 
That  in  my  inmost  conscience  is  denied. 


114 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

But  I  am  loth  to  add  to  the  world's  woe 

By  word,  or  sign, 

One  grief  of  mine: 
Would  God  that  I  had  always  been  as  slow. 

Yet  sometimes  when  my  sorrow  will  not  rest, 

If  I  speak  out, 

Not  blame,  or  doubt, 
But  just  the  heartache,  eased  to  be  expressed: 

Is  this  unmanly?     Is  the  world  the  worse 

To  know  my  laugh 

And  cheerful  chaff 
Are  only  ripples  where  the  depths  immerse? 

God  help  me  bear  my  burdens,  and  be  glad ; 

But  if  I  slip, 

And  eye  or  lip. 
Betray  how  much  there  is  to  make  me  sad, 

Let  love  withhold  my  words  and  tears  from  harm ; 

Let  my  distress 

Still  help  and  bless, 
Or  let  me  shrink  from  sorrow  with  alarm. 

God  give  me  grace  to  know  and  do  His  plan, 

And  through  the  years, 

In  smiles,  or  tears, 
Help  me  to  keep  our  troth,  and  play  the  man. 

Reno,   Nevada,   December  8,   1902. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


THE  MISSING  LAUGHTER. 

Do  you  remember,  dear,  that  night  I  dreamed 

That  you  were  dead? 
And  sobbed  heart-brokenly  in  sleep,  it  seemed, 

Upon  my  bed, 

And  when  I  told  you  in  the  light  of  day, 
How  lovingly  you  laughed  it  all  away? 


But  now  sometimes  I  dream  you  living,  dear, 

And  in  my  sleep 
I  am  so  happy  just  to  think  you  here, 

Then  waking  weep, 

And  there  is  no  one  now  to  laugh  away 
The  fact  that  fronts  me  in  the  light  of  day. 

Reno,  Nevada,  December  7,  1902. 


116 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


A  BIRTHDAY  WISH. 


Do  they  keep  birthdays,    dear,    where    thou    art 

gone? 

Do  they  remember  this,  thy  natal  day? 
Or  since  thy  death,  as  we  are  wont  to  say, 
Are  our  memorials  naught  to  think  upon? 
Is  death  itself  a  birth  to  life  so  fair 
There  is  no  place  for  our  poor  festals  there? 


How  shall  the  winged  butterfly  recall 

In  the  vast  freedom  of  his  airy  flight 

The  earth-worm's  birth?  how  shall  the  stars 

of  night 

Shine  when  the  glorious  sun  illumines  all? 
Or  how  shall  the  immortals  in  their  bliss 
Discern  the  dawn  of  such  a  day  as  this? 


And  yet,  art  thou  so  far,  so  far  from  me? 
Canst  thou  forget  the  happy  years  we  spent 
When  hand  in  hand  life's  common  ways  we 

went? 

Canst  thou  forget  how  much  I  was  to  thee? 
How  much  I  loved,  how  much  I  love  thee  yet? 
Canst  thou  forget?  dear  love,  canst  thou  forget? 


117 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  thou  wert  with  me  I  would  keep  the  day 
With  fond  memento,    and    with    words    of 

cheer ; 
Thou  shouldst  not  lack  for  love  if  thou  wert 

here: 
Let  God  be  merciful  to  me,  I  pray, 

And  bear  thee  token,  dear,  some  word  or  sign, 
That  still  I  keep  this  day  supremely  thine. 

Palo  Alto,  California,  December  15,  1901. 
Reno,  Nevada,  1902. 


118 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


GOD  BLESS  THEE  STILL. 

THEY  say  that  thou  art  gone  beyond  my  prayers ; 
That  when  I  talk  with  God,  at  morn  and  night, 
To  think  or  speak  of  thee  no  more  is  right, 

Or  if  thy  loved  name  slips  me  unawares — 

For  still  miy  every  thought  thy  image  bears — 
I  must  recall  my  birdlings  from  God's  sight, 
And  stay  them  sternly  from  their  heavenward 
flight, 

Though  they  seem  winged  to  cleave  the  upper  airs. 

For  thou  art  dead :  and  it  were  useless  now, 
Or  worse  than  useless  if  I  prayed  for  thee. 
Thou  hast  no  need  of  word  or  wish  from  me ; 

So  hath  death  changed  thee,  as  our  creeds  allow: 
I  may  still  love  thee,  but  I  dare  not  tell 
My  love  to  heaven,  or  say  I  wish  thee  well. 

And  yet  I  cannot  stay  my  thought  of  thee. 
I  do  not  doubt  that  thou  art  in  God's  care, 
And  I  am  glad  thou  dost  not  need  my  prayer, 

Glad  that  thy  joy  doth  not  depend  on  me, 

Glad  for  such  blessedness  as  thine  must  be, 
I  would  not  have  my  tears  disturb  thee  there, 
Nor  call  thee  thence  to  help  me  do  and  bear  ; 

I  do  not  ask  a  sign,  to  hear,  or  see. 


119 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

I  only  ask  God's  pity  if  I  err, 
And  His  forgiveness  if  I  tell  too  much 

Of  thoughts  and  feelings  that  within  me  stir, 
But  while  my  yearning  toward  thee,  love, 
such, 

How  shall  my  prayer  be  faithful,  full,  and  free, 

If  I  must  needs  deny  all  thought  of  thee? 


Shall  God  be  vexed  because  I  ask  His  grace 

On  my  beloved  in  the  better  land? 

And  if  I  may  not  guess  what  He  hath  planned 
For  His  redeemed  who  dwell  before  His  face, 
Do  I  not  know  that  love  hath  always  place? 

"Love  never  faileth,"  wrote  th'  Apostle's  hand ; 

And  shall  God's  love  our  human  love  with 
stand? 
Else,  who  shall  limit  love  by  time  and  space  ? 


Do  I  not  love  thee  yet,  where'er  thou  art? 
Or  hath  my  love  lost  aught  of  power  to  bless 
Perchance  thou  hast  no  craving  for  caress, 

And  canst  not  count  my  love  a  thing  apart; 
I  ask  it  not,  so  that  I  still  may  pray 
God's  blessing  on  thee,  dear,  from  day  to  day. 


120 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


ANNIE  LAURIE. 

MY  beautiful,  my  bonnie, 

With  whom  I  walked  for  years, 
Love,  thou  art  still  remembered 

With  longing  and  with  tears; 
With  longing  and  with  tears, 

Since  thou  art  gone  from  me, 
And  to  be  with  thee,  my  bonnie, 

I  ami  often  fain  to  dee. 

Thou  wert  so  pure  and  gentle, 

So  faithful  and  so  true, 
As  fair  as  summer  roses, 

As  sweet  as  morning  dew, 
As  sweet  as  morning  dew, 

And  all  the  world  to  me, 
And  to  be  with  thee,  my  bonnie, 

I  am  often  fain  to  dee. 

I  will  not  fail  thee,  darling, 

Though  life  seem  often  long, 
Through  tears  and  tribulations 

God  make  and  keep  me  strong, 
God  make  and  keep  me  strong 

Whate'er  my  lot  may  be, 
Till  with  thoughts  of  thee,  my  bonnie, 

I  lay  me  down,  and  dee. 

121 


Olross 


AND 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


UNDER  THE  CROSS.* 

UNDER  the  cross  where  the  Saviour  bled, 

Under  the  cross  that  day, 
While  the  Man  of  Calvary  bowed  his  head, 

And  sighed  his  sad  soul  away, 
They  bickered  and  bartered  for  paltry  gain, 
And  laughed  while  the  Christ  of  the  world  was 
slain, 

Under  the  cross  that  day. 

Under  the  cross  where  Love  bleedeth  yet, 

Under  the  cross  to-day, 
With  hands  by  the  blood  of  their  brothers  wet, 

Some  bit  of  cloth  for  their  pay — 
For  such  a  wage  men  can  bargain  still, 
And  murder  Pity,  and  scorn  Good-will, 

Under  the  cross  to-day. 

Under  the  cross  where  the  Truth  was  nailed, 

Nailed  to  the  wood  that  day, 
Thorn-crowned,  and  bloody,  and  rudely  hailed, 

The  butt  of  their  brutal  play, 
There  stood  the  rulers  in  Church  and  State, 
Proud,  and  exultant,  and  full  of  hate, 

Under  the  cross  that  day. 

*(John  xix,  23,  24.) 

124 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Under  the  cross  stand  they  even  now, 

Under  the  cross  to-day, 
Where  some  new  truth,  with  a  pierced  brow, 

Falleth  again  a  prey ; 
The  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  even  here, 
Laugh  in  their  triumph,  and  mock,  and  sneer, 

Under  the  cross  to-day. 


Under  the  cross  where  their  Prophet-King 
Suffered  and  died  that  day, 

Counted  a  base  and  unholy  thing, 
To  be  piously  put  away, 

Were  many  who  worshipped  Messiah's  name, 

Yet  heaped  Messiah  himself  with  shame, 
Under  the  cross  that  day. 


Ah,  the  pity  of  it,  the  tragic  truth, 

Under  the  cross  to-day, 
Stand  many  who  scoff  at  the  Christ  forsooth, 

And  turn  from  His  words  away — < 
Who  long  for  His  coming  in  yonder  skies, 
Yet  miss  Him  again  in  His  mean  disguise, 

There  on  the  cross  to-day. 


125 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


YESTERDAY  AND  TO-DAY. 

I  dare  not  ask  for  chance  to  live 

My  vanished  years  anew, 
Though  all  I  have  I  fain  would  give 

If  so  I  might  undo 
At  any  cost  of  toil  and  tears 
The  evil  of  my  bygone  years. 

I  dare  not  ask  another  test, 
With  all  that  I  have  won; 

I  might  do  better,  but  my  best 
Would  still  remain  undone, 

And  I  might  mourn  with  keener  smart 

The  larger  failures  of  my  heart. 

So  though  I  often  wince  with  pain 
For  some  remembered  wrong, 

Though  oft  some  penitential  strain 
Breaks  in  upon  my  song, 

I  only  dare  ask  God  to  give 

Grace  for  the  hour  in  which  I  live. 

I  dare  not  even  pledge  the  days 

That  wait  me  on  before, 
Or  promise  to  amend  my  ways, 

To  "go,  and  sin  no  more ;" 
I  can  but  pray,  "Lord,  give  me  power 
To  serve  Thee  better  hour  by  hour." 
126 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

"Make  both  my  past  and  future,  Lord, 

A  present  help  to  me, 
From  vain  regret,  and  boastful  word 

In  mercy  keep  me  free, 
Be  past  or  future  what  they  may, 
Help  me  to  walk  with  Thee  to-day." 


A  PRAYER. 

GIVE  me  a  faith  that  makes  men  crave, 
More  than  the  boon  of  endless  bliss, 

The  willingness  to  serve  and  save 
Their  fellows  in  a  world  like  this. 

A  faith  that  does  not  cry,  and  cry, 

"O  God,  be  merciful  to  me!" 
But  rather  yearns  to  do  and  die 

That  others  may  be  strong  and  free. 

A  faith  that  cannot  all  be  crammed 
And  shaped  to  fit  dogmatic  mould, 

That  knows  no  fear  of  being  damned, 
But  shrinks  from  being  hard  and  cold. 


127 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

That  dreads  far  more  than  wrath  to  come 
The  sense  of  failure  to  do  well, 

The  cowardice  that  makes  one  dumb 
In  presence  of  a  present  hell. 


That  dreams  far  less  of  pearly  gates 
And  golden  streets  beyond  the  skies, 

Than  of  the  death  of  human  hates, 
The  downfall  of  all  earthly  lies. 


Lo,  I  am  in  my  Father's  hand! 

Let  Him  deal  with  me  as  He  may, 
So  that  He  give  me  grace  to  stand 

And  battle  for  the  right  to-day. 


I  want  no  upper  seat  above, 

Nor  shining  crown  with  stars  impearled, 
But  just  to  know  my  life  and  love 

Made  this  a  little  better  world. 


And  just  to  go,  and  just  to  do 
As  love  leads  on  to  service  still, 

My  only  hell  to  be  untrue, 

My  heaven  to  simply  do  God's  will. 


128 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 
PROVIDENCE. 

(Tune,   Naomi.) 

O  FAITHFUL  Father,  grant  us  all 
Such  fullness  of  Thy  grace 

That  in  whatever  lot  befall 
We  may  behold  Thy  face. 

In  cares  or  comforts,  gain  or  loss, 

In  sickness  or  in  health, 
Teach  us  the  wisdom  of  the  cross, 

Where  even  want  is  wealth. 

Teach  us  how  all  our  pains  and  aches, 

Of  body  and  of  mind, 
Our  very  missings  and  mistakes 

Some  heavenly  end  shall  find. 

Teach  us  until  we  learn  to  trust 

Thy  perfect  purpose  still 
When  we  are  humbled  in  the  dust 

By  some  triumphant  ill. 

So  shalt  Thou  prove  us  as  Thou  wilt, 

Thyself  our  sure  defense 
While  we  from  faith  to  faith  are  built 

Upon  Thy  providence. 

Newton  Boulevard,  Mass.    Tune  21,  1901. 
129 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

THINE. 

Tune,  Louvan. 

THOU  Christ  of  God,  incarnate  word, 
Both  Son  of  Man  and  Sovereign  Lord, 
Flesh  of  our  flesh,  and  yet  divine, 
We  joy  to  know  that  wre  are  Thine. 

Thine  by  the  grace  that  brought  Thee  down 
To  wear  our  nature  as  Thine  own ; 
Thine  by  Thy  life  of  pain  and  loss, 
Thine  by  Thy  passion  and  Thy  cross. 

Bought  at  a  cost  we  cannot  know, 
Bought  from  a  destiny  of  woe, 
Bought  for  the  endless  years,  to  be 
Thine  own  through   all   eternity. 

Thine  own  whate'er  befall  us  here, 
Or  if  Thou  givest  smile  or  tear; 
Thine  own  through  seeming  good  or  ill, 
We  are  Thy  blood-bought  people  still. 

Since  we  are  Thine  grant  us  the  grace 
To  show  the  glory  of  Thy  face, 
That  all,  whate'er  our  lot  may  be, 
May  know  that  we  belong  to  Thee, 

Composed  on  the  street  cars,  between  Concord 
and  Lexington,  Mass.,  June  20,  1901. 

130 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


TO  UNION  LABOR. 

I  WOULD  not  say  one  word  unkindly  meant 
To  the  vast  toiling  masses  of  all  lands; 
So  have  I  labored,  numbered  with  the  "hands;" 

And  I  am  proud  that  so  my  youth  was  spent: 

My  heart  is  with  them  in  their  just  intent 
To  seek  the  utmpst  that  their  weal  demands, 
As  I  am  with  the  weakest  man  who  stands 

For  fullest  freedom  to  fulfill  his  bent. 

Nor  do  I  doubt  it  is  the  toilers'  right 
To  band  together  in  their  own  defense, 

Or  with  the  money  magnates  to  unite 

And  do  their  best  to  bring  the  reign  of  sense, 

When  our  industrial  civil  wars  shall  cease, 

And  business  know  stability  and  peace. 

But  let  not  labor  think  to  profit  long 
By  any  union,  either  with  their  own 
Or  those  who  once  as  enemies  were  known, 

Though  such  an  union  may  seem  more  than  strong, 

If  labor  reckon  not  with  right  and  wrong, 
Or  scorn  the  public  for  themselves  alone, 
Grasping  their  wages  as  some  dog  a  bone, 

And  scouting  wisdom  as  an  idle  song. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

None  but  the  broadest  brotherhood  will  live ; 
And  selfishness,  triumphant  though  it  seem, 
Fails  at  the  last,  whatever  be  its  scheme; 
They  who  would  get  must  also  learn  to  give : 
Nor  any  class,  however  great  or  small, 
Shall  save  themselves  except  by  saving  all. 


THE  TRUE  TEMPLE. 

Tune,  Ward. 

Lo,  God  is  in  his  temple  now, 
Let  every  heart  in  homage  bow — 
So  shall  He  fill  this  happy  place 
With  present  tokens  of  His  grace. 

He  dwelleth  not  in  desk  or  pew, 
But  with  each  faithful  heart  and  true; 
Nor  word,  nor  sign,  shall  hold  Him  here, 

Who  to  the  lowly  draweth  near. 

.;  -^ 
i* 

For  what  to  him  are  learned  phrase? 
Or  the  loud  anthem  we  upraise?  : 

Or  cloth  or  candle,  wine  or  bread  ? 
If  faith,  and  hope,  and  love  are  dead? 


132 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Bring  Him  the  love  and  trust  He  craves, 
And  ye  shall  know  how  well  He  saves; 
Bring  Him  the  true  intent  that  lives, 
And  ye  shall  know  what  joy  He  gives. 


Bring  Him  yourselves,  and  test  Him  here, 
If  God  will  not  indeed  draw  near, 
And  make  this  hour  and  place  to  be 
Remembered  through  eternity. 

Clarendon  St.  Baptist  Church,  Boston,  Sunday 
morning,  June  30,  1901. 


IT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN. 

WHEN  I  remember  what  my  life  has  been, 

And  all  the  hapless  blunders  I  have  made, 
How  often  I  have  fallen  into  sin, 

How  often  have  been  foolish  and  afraid ; 
Let  me  not  grow  morose,  nor  yield  to  grief, 

Nor  be  content  my  failures  to  rehearse, 
While  Hope  and  Courage  run  to  my  relief, 

Let  me  be  thankful  that  it  wasn't  worse. 


133 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Sad  are  the  words  indeed,  "It  might  have  been," 
Yet  is  there  gladness  in  them  if  we  will; 

Do  they  remind  us  how  we  failed  to  win? 
Lo,  there  are  battles  that  await  us  still. 

We  have  not  yielded  to  the  utmost  yet, 
We  have  not  felt  the  fullness  of  reverse; 

Away  with  whining  and  with  vain  regret, 


This  be  our  spirit  to  the  very  end 

Whenever  we  look  back  upon  our  ways, 
Let  us  make  Memory  our  constant  friend, 

And  gather  comfort  from  our  yesterdays; 
So  shall  our  losses  blossom  into  gains, 

And  our  to-morrows  we  shall  reimburse 
Out  of  our  disappointments  and  our  pains, 

And  still  be  thankful  that  they  were  not  worse. 


IN  OREGON. 

I'VE  hunted  here,  and  hunted  there, 
For  something  new  to  rhyme  at, 

And  if  it  wasn't  wrong  to  swear, 
I'd  write  about  the  climate; 

But  I  will  not  begin  in  vain: 

Here  is  to-morrow's  forecast — RAIN. 


J34 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


TO  PLAY  THE  MAN. 

OUT  of  the  mystery  I  came, 

Into  the  miystery  I  go, 
But  whence  I  caught  the  vital  flame, 

Or  whereunto  this  spark  shall  glow — 
Who  knows?    Or  who  may  think  to  tell 

The  scope  of  the  eternal  plan? 
Yet  this  I  know  and  feel  full  well, 

That  I  am  here  to  play  the  man. 

I  know  not  what  I  am,  nor  why, 

Nor  wherefore  anything  should  be; 
And  that  men  live,  or  that  men  die, 

I  know  not  which  most  puzzles  me. 
Lo,  there  are  endless  questionings 

Whichever  way  I  seek  to  scan ; 
This  only  peace  and  comfort  brings, 

That  I  am  here  to  play  the  man. 

I  know  not  even  how  I  know 

That  I  am  bound  to  do  the  right; 
That  this  impulse  is  mean  and  low, 

And  for  this  other  I  must  fight; 
Nor  why  self-sacrifice  appeals 

And  selfishness  is  under  ban, 
Save  that  the  heart  within  me  feels 

That  I  am  here  to  play  the  man. 

135 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Not  here  to  cavil  and  to  doubt ; 

Not  here  to  gibe  and  scoff,  and  sneer ; 
Not  here  to  weep,  and  whine,  and  pout; 

Not  here  to  cringe  and  crawl  with  fear; 
But  here  to  meet  life  face  to  face, 

And  do  the  very  best  I  can; 
Whatever  comes,  with  grit  and  grace 

To  stand  right  up  and  play  the  man. 


Aye,  here  to  hope,  and  here  to  trust, 

And  here  to  labor  and  to  love; 
Here  to  be  gentle,  kind  and  just, 

To  live  as  for  the  life  above; 
And  here  to  prove  through  old  and  new, 

However  worlds  or  men  began, 
That  those  things  are  most  surely  true 

Which  help  me  most  to  play  the  man. 


136 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


I'M  GLAD  I  LIVE  TO-DAY. 

SOME  folks  are  always  sighing 

To  get  back  the  good  old  days; 
They  say  that  modern  life  is  just 

One-round  of  crime  and  craze: 
It  isn't  what  it  ought  to  be, 

Yet  I  am  bound  to  say, 
Whenever  I  read  history 

I'm  glad  I  live  to-day. 

I  like  my  Welsbach  burner 

Better  than  a  tallow  dip; 
The  stage  would  be  too  slow  for  me, 

In  spite  of  spur  and  whip ; 
And  telegraph  and  telephone 

Are  handy  by  the  way; 
So,  though  the  croakers  croak,  I  own 

I'm  glad  I  live  to-day. 

No  doubt,  our  worthy  fathers 

Were  of  quite  heroic  stuff, 
But  I  suspect  their  manners 

Were  at  least  a  little  rough; 
They  knew  too  much  of  hardship, 

And  not  half  enough  of  play; 
So,  much  as  I  admire  them, 

I'm  glad  I  live  to-day. 

137 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  though  some  decent  people 

Claim  the  world  is  getting  worse, 
And  cite  the  daily  papers 

And  their  lists  of  crime  rehearse — 
Although  the  rising  sun  may  show 

Some  spots  night  hid  away, 
I  like  the  daylight  better,  and 

I'm  glad  I  live  to-day. 


And  even  if  to-morrow 

Be  a  better  day  than  this, 
And  I  was  born  too  early 

To  enjoy  earth's  rarest  bliss, 
I'll  do  my  best  to  hasten  on 

The  age  of  dream  and  lay, 
And,  when  the  battle's  sorest,  sing 

I'm  glad  I  live  to-day. 


138 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


TO-DAY. 

LET  us  live  well  to-day;  there  is  no  morrow 

That  we  can  claim. 
To-day  is  our's,  for  either  joy  or  sorrow, 

For  praise  or  blame; 
Whatever  part  in  life  we  plan  to  play 
Let  us  be  faithful  to  our  role  to-day. 

Let  us  be  glad  to-day,  nor  dream  of  blisses 

The  years  may  bring; 
Who  waits  for  happiness  too  often  misses; 

If  we  would  sing 

Let  us  sing  now,  and  let  our  hearts  be  gay 
With  the  God-given  laughter  of  to-day. 

Let  us  be  kind,  to-day,  nor  sigh  for  splendor 

Of  larger  sphere; 
We  can  be  gentle,  generous,  and  tender, 

Right  now  and  here ; 
So  much  there  is  of  good  to  do  and  say 
Life  is  significant  for  all  to-day. 

Let  us  be  brave,  and  true,  and  calm,  and  cheery, 

And  strong,  and  free, 
However  hard  the  road,  however  weary 

Our  feet  may  be; 

All  that  we  would  have  been  along  the  way, 
And  all  we  would  be,  let  us  be  to-day. 

139 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


TO  LIVE,  AND  LOVE,  AND  LEARN. 

MOST  of  the  things  that  worry  u? 

Don't  matter  much. 
Too  many  of  us  fret  and  fuss 

At  every  touch. 

There's  nothing  that's  of  great  concern 
Except  to  live,  and  love,  and  learn. 

Suppose  the  world  don't  go  our  way, 

What  of  it,  then? 
We  have  the  better  chance  to-day 

To  act  like  men, 
And  still  insist  at  every  turn 
We're  here  to  live,  and  love,  and  learn. 

It  isn't  doing  what  we  would 

That  counts  for  most; 
It's  being  brave,  and  kind,  and  good, 

Amid  the  host; 

For  better  than  to  crave  and  yearn 
Is  just  to  live,  and  love,  and  learn. 

We  make  too  much  of  ease  and  joy, 

And  sordid  gain ; 
The  things  that  vex  us  and  annoy, 

The  toil  and  pain, 
And  every  malady  we  spurn 
May  help  us  live,  and  love,  and  learn. 
140 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  there  is  nothing  else  to  fear 

Of  good  or  ill 
Than  just  the  failure  of  good  cheer 

And  honest  will; 
No  loss  need  fright  us  if  we  earn 
More  power  to  live,  and  love,  and  learn, 


WHEN  BABY  CROWS. 

IT  matters  not  what  work  we  do, 
Or  what  the  pleasures  we  pursue; 
We  always  stop,  and  laugh  anew, 
When  baby  crows. 

It  doesn't  matter  ,who  is  here, 
Though  Judge,   or  Minister  appear, 
We  just  can't  help  but  clap  and  cheer 
When  baby  crows. 

Somtimes  the  day  is  dark  enough, 
And  life  seems  very  harsh  and  rough, 
But  somehow  'tisn't  half  so  tough, 
When  baby  crows. 

There's  some  light  in  the  darkest  cloud, 
And  some  release  from  cares  that  crowd, 
For  hope  and  courage  cry  aloud, 
When  baby  crows. 
141 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

'Tis  such  a  funny  little  noise, 
The  jolliness  of  all  our  joys, 
The  gold  of  glee  without  alloys, 
When  baby  crows. 

The  angels  seem  to  sing  again 
Of  "Peace,  good  will  to  earth,"  and  then 
The  pure  in  heart  respond,  "Amen," 
When  baby   crows. 

Laugh  at  my  fancies  if  you  will; 
I  know  that  all  things  false  and  ill, 
Grow  shamed  a  sudden,  and  are  still, 
When  baby   crows. 

And  when  we  see  no  cause  for  play, 
What  starts   the  laugh   so  blithe  and   gay, 
If  angels  sing  not  far  away, 
When   baby   crows. 

Come  whence  it  may,   in  loving  hearts, 
Worn  with  the  noises  of  the  marts, 
A  flood  of  heavenly  music  starts, 
When   baby   crows. 

And  blessed  are  the  ears  that  hear, 
And  hearts  that  answer  to  the  cheer, 
And  eyes  where  the  love-lights  appear, 
When   baby   crows. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


NOT  OUR  OWN. 

OH  blessed  Master,  thine  we  are; 

The  little  that  we  seemi  to  own, 
Is  ours  indeed  to  make  or  mar, 

And  yet,  it  is  not  ours  alone. 

'Tis  ours  because  it  first  is  thine, 
And  only  as  a  loan  we  claim 

The  priceless  heritage  divine, 

Which  bears  awhile  our  mortal  name. 

It  is  not  ours  to  spend  at  will, 

Or  fail  to  spend  if  we  deem  best, 
'Tis  ours  to  use  with  profit,  till 
Thou  summon  back  thy  high  bequest. 

No,  not  our  own  are  we,  who  live 
Redeemed  and  sanctified  by  thee, 

The  price  none  but  a  God  could  give 
Thou  gavest,  and  Thine  own  are  we. 

Thine  own  forever;  though  we  roam 
Awhile  in  paths  by  mortals  trod, 

Yet  do  we  find  our  lasting  home, 
In  Thee  alone,  the  Love  of  God. 

Seattle,  W.  T.,  February  26,  1889. 
143 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

DOROTHY. 

Born  August  2,  1899. 

WHAT  a  dainty  bit  of  flesh 

Is  Dorothy. 
And  how  soft  and  sweet  and  fresh 

Is  Dorothy. 

Oh,  you  needn't  lift  your  lid, 
But  I  know  you  never  did 
See  so  cute  a  little  kid 

As  Dorothy. 

She's  as  smiling  as  the  day, 

Is  Dorothy. 
And  as  pretty  as  the  May 

Is  Dorothy. 

She's  as  proper  as  a  saint, 
She  don't  powder,  primp  or  paint. 
But  she's  in  it,  if  you  ain't, 

Is  Dorothy. 

Oh,  she  cries  sometimes,  of  course, 

Does  Dorothy, 
Till  she  gets  quite  red  and  hearse, 

Does  Dorothy. 

?44 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

She  don't  care  for  rank  or  ilk, 
She  don't  care  for  gold  or  silk, 
But  she  just  does  yell  for  milk, 
Does  Dorothy. 


But  she  smiles  and  coos  and  crows, 

Does  Dorothy. 
And  she  wrinkles  up  her  nose, 

Does  Dorothy. 

And  she  throws  her  hands  about, 
And  her  little  feet  pop  out, 
And  she  makes  us  laugh  and  shout, 

Does  Dorothy. 

And  such  nonsense  as  we  talk 

To  Dorothy, 
And  how  funnily  we  walk 

For  Dorothy. 

There's  a  thousand  things  we  do 
That  would  seem  absurd  to  you, 
But  we've  always  something  new 

For  Dorothy. 

And  what's  more,  we  long  and  pray 

For  Dorothy. 
God  be  with  her  all  her  day, 

Dear  Dorothy. 

M5 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Come  what  may  of  hopes  or  fears, 
Come  what  may  of  smiles  or  tears, 
God  be  with  her  through  the  years, 
With  Dorothy. 

Then  here's  to  the  little  Miss, 

To  Dorothy. 
What  a  bonnie  blessing  is 

Dear  Dorothy. 

No,  you  needn't  lift  your  lid, 
For  I  know  you  never  did 
See  so  cute  a  little  kid 

As  Dorothy. 

December  30,  1899. 


140 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


THE  COMING  AGE. 

IT  is  writ  on  history's  pages 

How  the  poets  and  the  sages 

Have  looked  forward  through  the  ages, 

With  a  faith  few  understood, 
To  that  happy  consummation 
When  all  men  of  every  nation 
Shall  make  up  God's  new  creation, 

Love's  eternal  brotherhood. 

High  and  holy  is  the  vision 
Of  that  coming  age  elysian 
And  it  stirs  the  harsh  derision 

Of  the  unbelieving  throng. 
But  some  hearts  forsake  it  never, 
Some  are  true  to  it  forever, 
To  it  give  their  best  endeavor, 

And  it  still  inspires  their  song. 

May  we  count  among  their  number 
Who  have  waked  from  selfish  slumber, 
And,  whatever  doubts  encumber, 

Still  believe  that  over  all 
Broods  the  love  that  never  faileth, 
Love  that  for  all  men  availeth, 
And  that  in  the  end  prevaileth 

O'er  whatever  ills  befall ; 

147 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse 

Who  believe  the  day  draws  nearer 
When  men's  vision  shall  be  clearer, 
And  to  each,  each  shall  be  dearer 

Than  we  count  our  kindred  now. 
This  is  no  hallucination, 
No  mere  dream  or  speculation, 
But  the  calm,  sure  expectation 

That  our  lips  and  lives  avow. 


Though  our  faith  may  long  be  slighted, 

Men  shall  yet  be  all  united, 

And  a  world-wide  troth  be  plightea 

At  love's  altar  by  and  by, 
War  shall  cease,  base  competition, 
And  all  strife  and  all  division, 
When  men  ask  no  higher  mission 

Than  for  men  to  do  and  die. 


Aye!  that  better  age  comes  slowly; 
Still  it  lingers  with  the  lowly; 
Still  the  high  despise  the  holy, 

And  the  Truth  is  crucified. 
But  through  all  the  sad,  sad  story, 
Though  the  cross  be  dark  and  gory, 
Through  it  glows  the  golden  glory 

Of  the  kingdom  there  denied. 


148 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Scorned  and  scourged,  entombed  and  guarded, 
Still  Love  rises  unretarded, 
And  the  cross  is  now  rewarded 

By  the  crown  of  endless  life. 
They  who  laughed,  with  fear  are  shaken  ; 
They  who  took,  themselves  are  taken ; 
They  exult  who  were  forsaken ; 

So  forever  ends  the  strife. 


Love  may  still  be  long  rejected, 
Love's  disciples  scorned,  suspected, 
Love's  ideals  mocked,  neglected, 

But,  beyond  the  cross  and  tomb, 
Truth  and  Love,  one  flesh  and  spirit, 
Shall  arise,  and  yet  inherit 
Heaven  and  earth.    O  ye  who  hear  it! 

Pray  in  faith,  "Thy  kingdom  come." 


149 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


LIVE  FOR  SOMETHING. 

LIVE  for  something,  have  a  purpose, 

And  that  purpose  keep  in  view ; 
Drifting  like  a  helmless  vessel, 

Thou  can'st  ne'er  to  life  be  true. 
Half  the  wrecks  that  strew  life's  ocean, 

If  some  star  had  been  their  guide, 
Might  have  now  been  riding  safely, 

But  they  drifted  with  the  tide. 


Live  for  something;  yes,  and  something 

That  is  worthy  of  thy  life; 
Something  that  will  well  repay  thee, 

When  'tis  won,  for  all  thy  strife. 
Be  not  dazzled  by  the  glitter 

And  the  tinsel  of  the  world ; 
For  the  noble,  true,  and  lasting 

Let  thy  banner  be  unfurled. 


Live  for  something;  live  in  earnest, 
Though  thy  work  may  humble  be, 

By  the  careless  world  neglected 
Known  alone  to  God,  and  thee. 

150 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Every  act  has  priceless  value 
To  the  Architect  of  Fate, 

And  the  spirit  of  thy  doing 
This  alone  may  make  it  great. 


Live  for  something;  every  mortal 

Wields  the  scepter  of  a  king; 
Every  soul  may  waken  echoes 

That  shall  never  cease  to  ring. 
We  are  living  for  the  ages 

To  the  farthest  end  of  time, 
And  the  weakest  life  is  mighty, 

And  the  humblest  is  sublime. 


Live  for  something;  God  and  angels 

Are  thy  watchers  in  the  strife, 
And  above  the  smoke  of  battle 

Gleams  the  victor's  crown  of  life. 
Live  for  something;  God  has  given 

Freely  of  His  stores  divine, 
Richest  gifts  of  earth  and  heaven, 

If  thou  wiliest  may  be  thine. 

Waltham,  Mass.,  1881. 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

A  PARAPHRASE. 
Psalm  I. 

GREAT  are  his  joys,  the  righteous  man 
Who  walks  not  in  the  thought  or  plan 

Of  men  of  wicked  heart, 
Nor  in  the  way  of  sinners  stands, 
Nor  sits  among  the  scornful  bands, 

And  with  them  has  no  part. 


But  toward  Jehovah's  perfect  law 
His  soul  inclines  with  sincere  awe, 

And  bows  with  holy  fear. 
And  in  his  law  both  day  and  night 
He  meditates  with  sweet  delight, 

Through  each  succeeding  year. 


Like  to  a  widely  spreading  tree 
O'er  living  waters,  he  shall  be, 

In  perfect  strength  complete. 
His  fruit  in  proper  time  shall  fall; 
His  leaf  shall  wither  not,  and  all 

He  does  success  shall  meet. 


152 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

The  wicked  are  not  so,  but  they 
Are  like  the  chaff  that  flies  away 

Before  each  passing  wind. 
Therefore   they  shall  not  stand  with  those 
Who  keep  His  covenant  and  laws, 

Nor  with  them  favor  find. 


For  God  the  righteous  man  beholds 
In  all  his  ways,  and  kindly  folds 

Around  him  love  and  grace; 
But  the  unrighteous  man  shall  stray 
Far  from  the  good  and  perfect  way, 

And  never  see  His  face. 

Newton  Centre,  Mass. 


153 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


GOD  GARNERS  NO  GREEN  GRAIN. 

OUR  God  makes  no  mistakes:  O  heart  oppressed, 
And  eyes  all  blinded  with  the  mists  of  pain, 
Eternal  love  pursues  no  fruitless  quest, 
God  garners  no  green  grain. 

Death  seems  untimely  when  our  dear  ones  go, 
And  some  mischance  our  hearts  regret  in  vain. 
It  only  seemeth,  for  it  is  not  so, 

God  garners  no  green  grain. 

Even  the  babe  that  dieth  with  a  breath, 
By  arrow  of  outrageous  fortune  slain, 
Serveth  some  purpose  through  such  early  death, 
God  garners  no  green  grain. 

The  strong  who  leave  us  ere  their  work  is  done, 
As  our  w^eak  faith  is  wonted  to  complain, 
Despite  our  doubtings  do  not  die  too  soon, 
God  garners  no  green  grain. 

Whether  the  reaper  cometh  soon  or  late, 
Nor  life,  nor  death,  can  ever  be  in  vain, 
His  will  transcends  the  seeming  whims  of  fate, 
God  garners  no  green  grain. 

Oakland,  Cal.,  January  10,  1894. 
154 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


BLESSED  ARE  THEY  THAT  MOURN. 

"BLESSED  are  they  that  mourn,"  the  Master  said; 
But,  weeping  bitterly  above  my  dead, 
I   murmiured,  unbelievingly,   "Ah,    no! 
It  is  not  so." 

He  did  not  chide  me  for  my  willful  word, 
My  every  tear's  pathetic  plash  he  heard, 
My  every  sigh;  and  thus  He  answered  low, 
"Child,  thou  shalt  know." 

He  touched  mine  eyelids  with  His  ringer  tips, 
And  through  the  midnight  of  my  grief's  eclipse 
I  looked  on  life,  and  strangely  large  and  clear 
Did  life  appear. 

I  saw  life's  brevity  as  ne'er  before, 
I  saw  life's  true  intent;  and  more  and  more 
I   saw,   in  spite  of   glamour  and  of    guile, 
What  is  worth  while. 

And  loves  long  lost  came  thronging  back  again, 
My  heart  was  kind  toward  all  the  sons  of  men, 
Tears  washed  all  trace  of  bitterness  away, 
That  sad,  glad  day. 


155 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  I  drew  very  near  the  world  unseen, 
Mine  eyes  did  all  but  pierce  the  veil  between 
I  almost  heard  the  sweet,  angelic  song 
Of  yonder  throng. 

"Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,"  The  Master  said; 
And,  still  in  tears,  I  lifted  up  my  head 
And  answered,  on  that  happy  faith  upborne, 
"Blessed  are  they  that  mourn." 

Oakland,  Cal.,  November,   1897. 


A  VISION  OF  FAITH. 

BESIDE  the  shaded  couch,  where  weak  and  faint 

A  dear  one  suffering  lay, 
Bearing  her  agony  without  complaint, 

In  the  old  martyr  way, 
I  saw  two  forms,  like  waiting  angels,  stand 

On  either  hand. 

I  knew  that  one  was  Faith ;  the  calm,  clear  brow 

And  the  uplifted  eye 
Shone  with  assurance,  like  the  tender  glow 

On  morning's  kindling  sky, 
And  all  her  mien  triumphant  trust  expressed, 

And  perfect  rest. 

156 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

The  other  seemed   Faith's  very  twin  at  first, 

So  like  in  form  and  face, 
Save  that  her  calm  was  as  some  part  rehearsed, 

And  there  was  lack  of  grace; 
And  in  her  eyes  a  vague  impatience  stirred, 

And  thrilled  each  word. 

She  spoke  and  Faith  was  still :  "Thou  needest  not 

Lie  thus  on  bed  of  pain; 
Hath  God  His  old-time  healing  power  forgot? 

Can  He  not  cure  again? 
Believing  prayer  shall  save  the  sick;  believe! 

And  health  receive." 

The  sufferer  stirred,  and  feebly  made  reply, 

"I  do  not  doubt  God's  care, 
But  though  for  strength  I  daily  make  my  cry, 

He  doth  not  grant  the  prayer." 
The  Presence  answered,  "They  shall  have  who 
seek ; 

Thy  prayer  is  weak." 

Then   Faith   drew  near,   and   gently  whispered. 
"Peace! 

They  do  not  love  God  most 
Who  are  most  urgent  for  their  quick  release 

From  pain's  severe  impost. 
Who  can  pray  better  than  the  suffering  Son? 

Thy  will  be  done." 


157 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

"They  trust  God  most  who  most  accept  God's 

will, 

Whate'er  that  will  may  be; 
Bearing  with  patient  calm  life's  every  ill; 

Their  first  and  dearest  plea, 
That    God   will   grant,     through    pleasure,    or 

through  pain, 
In  them  to  reign. 


"God  often  heals,  and  often  healeth  not, 

As  we  have  greater  need; 
To  be  submissive  to  His  blessed  thought, 

Oh,  this  is  trust  indeed! 
And  this  shall  be  the  sign  thy  prayer  is  heard, 

GOD'S  WILL  PREFERRED." 


The  vision  vanished,  but  the  voice  remained, 
And  still,  "God's  will  preferred," 

Pointed  the  path  by  which  all  good  is  gained, 
And  gave  the  conquering  word: 

Or  sick,  or  well,  or  rich,  or  poor,  how  small! 
God's  will  is  all. 


158 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


WHERE  NONE  ARE  OLD. 

SOMEWHERE,  beyond  all  human  ken  of  distance, 
Beyond  our  childish  measurings  of  space, 

There  is  a  land  where  life,  with  sweet  persistence, 
Goes  on  forever,  with  no  loss  of  grace, 
Where  none  are  old. 

Where  none  are  old ;  for  pain  and  weakness  never 
May  find  a  footing  on  that  far-off  strand, 

But  health  and  youth  forever  and  forever 
Possess  the  borders  of  that  better  land 
Where  none  are  old. 

There  deathless  beauty,  all  our  thought  transcend 
ing, 

Fills  up  the  measure  of  the  eye's  delight, 
And  changeless  love  guards  there  against  offend 
ing, 

And  shares  the  kingdom  with  eternal  right, 
Where  none  are  old. 

There  shall  attainment  equal  expectation, 
There  are  no  Pisgahs  for  our  hindered  feet, 

No  wearing  out  in  strife  and  tribulation, 
And  there  no  yielding  of  plans  incomplete, 
Where  np^e  are  old. 


159 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

There  shall  we  know  no  limit  to  our  learning, 
There  shall  our  energies  be  always  new, 

No  thirst  unslaked,  no  heart-sick  hungry  yearning 
Shall  make  our  life  seem  empty  and  untrue, 
Where  none  are  old. 

No  partings  with  our  loved,  no  sad  forgetting 
Of  the  dear  faces  half  forgotten  now, 

No  anxious  tears,  no  doubting  and  no  fretting, 
But  shining  peace,  clear  written  on  each  brow, 
Where  none  are  old. 

Earth-life  is  but  a  segment  of  the  ages, 

Our  longest  years  with  men  are  but  a  span, 

There  shall  we  fellowship  the  saints  and  sages 
Of  all  the  centuries  since  time  began, 
Where  none  are  old. 

No  burden  of  remorse,  no  heart  repining, 
No  sin  to  scatter  thorns  upon  our  way, 

No  effort  to  behold  the  silver  lining 

Beyond  the  clouds,  in  that  fair  realm  of  day 
Where  none  are  old. 

Where  none  are  old !  O  land  of  life  immortal, 
When  shall  I  lay  the  things  of  time  aside? 

When  shall  I  pass  rejoicingly  the  portal 
To  walk  forever  with  the  glorified? 
Where  none  are  old. 

Salem,  Oregon. 

160 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


LOOKING  UNTO  JESUS. 

LOOKING  unto  Jesus,  when  our  hearts  are  sick 

with  sin, 
When  the  vain  world  mocks  our  crying  for  His 

blessed  peace  within, 
When  the  shadow  of  our  sinning  hangs  above 

us  like  a  pall, 
Looking  unto  Jesus  who  forgives  and  pardons  all. 


Looking  unto  Jesus,  when  temptations  hover  near, 
When  our  boasted  strength  is  weakness,  and  our 

wonted  courage   fear, 
When  the  things  in  which  we  trusted  vanish  like 

the  early  dew, 
Looking  unto  Jesus  who  alone     can     bear     us 

through. 


Looking  unto  Jesus,  when  our  weeping  eyes  are 

sore, 
When  the  long-loved  voice  is  silent,  and  the  dear 

heart  beats  no  more, 
When  our  hopes  like  withered  roses  droop  and 

perish  at  our  feet, 
Looking  unto  Jesus  for  His  consolation  sweet. 

161 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Looking  unto  Jesus,   when   we   gather   at    His 

throne, 
With  the  ransomed  hosts  to  praise  Him  who  hath 

bought  us  for  His  own, 
Oh  what  joy  to  spend  the  ages  in  the  shadow  of 

His  wing, 
Looking  unto  Jesus  as  our  Prophet,  Priest,  and 

King. 

Seattle,  Washington,  1889. 


INCREASE  OUR  FAITH. 

LORD,  Thou  hast  given  with  a  lavish  hand! 

How  are  we  blessed  in  basket  and  in  store, 
The  favored  people  of  Thy  favored  land, 

Yet  would  we  crave  of  Thee  one  mercy  more, 
Increase  our  faith. 


Increase  our  substance  as  Thou  seest  best, 
Increase  our  fame,  if  so  it  be  Thy  will, 

Increase  in  us  pure  learning's  holy  quest, 

But,  more  than  all,  O  God,  we  pray  Thee  still 
Increase  our  faith. 


162 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Our  faith  in  God;  our  confidence  in  Truth; 

Our  soul-persuasion  of  eternal  years: 
Pity  our  timid  age,  our  careless  youth, 

And  in  Thy  providence,  through  smiles  or  tears, 
Increase  our  faith. 


In  all  that  makes  for  high  and  honest  worth, 
Kindness,  and  gentleness,  and  holy  peace; 

In  that  unselfishness  not  born  of  earth, 

The  love  that  suffers  long,  and  doth  not  cease, 
Increase  our  faith. 


And  in  ourselves,  our  better  selves  indeed, 
Our  power  to  be  the  sort  of  souls  we  will 

Our  power  to  get  the  things  we  truly  need, 
Our  power  to  overcome  life's  every  ill, 
Increase  our  faith. 


O  Father!  when  our  souls  are  sore  beset, 
When  we  are  driven  by  the  whips  of  pain, 

When  we  forget  Thy  care,  and  fume,  and  fret, 
Strengthen  us  still,  the  while  we  pray  again 
Increase  our  faith. 

Oakland,   California,   November  30,   1897. 


163 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


HE  KNOWETH  BEST. 

HE  knoweth  best,  my  human  eyes  are  blinded 

By  fog  and  haze, 
And  I  am  yet  too  often  worldly  minded 

To  choose  my  ways. 

I  doubt  not  that  God's  thought  for  me  is  better 

Than  thought  of  mine, 
And  though  I  fret  because  my  duties  fetter 

Some  fond  design, 

Yet  I  can  trust  Him,  and  abide  His  leading 

Through  all  my  way, 
Until,  beyond  the  storms  and  clouds  receding, 

In  heaven's  new  day 

I  shall  behold  with  pure  and  perfect  vision 

God's  plan  for  me, 
And  in  the  blessedness  of  life's  fruition 

Contented  be. 

What  wTill  it  matter  if  my  life  when  ended 

A  failure  seems, 
If  God  hath  wrought  more  than  I  comprehended 

In  all  my  schemes? 

164 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Wherefore  I  pray,  O  wise  and  holy  Father, 

Abide  with  me; 
Let  me  not  live  for  sense  and  self,  but  rather 

For  heaven  and  Thee. 

Salem,  Oregon. 


TEACH  ME  THY  WILL* 

LIKE  Mary  at  the  Master's  feet 

I  would  be  still ; 
This  quiet  prayer  alone  repeat, 

Teach  me  Thy  will. 

Teach  me  Thy  will  until  I  learn 

To  make  it  mine, 
Till  any  way  shall  suit  me,  so 

That  way  is  Thine. 

Teach  me  Thy  will,  though  slow  I  am 

To  learn  it  well, 
Thy  love  for  me  doth  more  and  more 

My  faith  compel. 

Teach  me  Thy  will,  though  oft  I  scan 

The  text  through  tears, 
So  shall  my  soul  rejoice  in  Thee, 

Through  endless  years. 

Oakland,  California,  January  6,  1897. 
165 


My  Country  and  Other   Verse. 


CHOOSE  THOU  FOR  ME. 

MY  thought  of  life  is  oft  amiss, 
I  know  not  yet  what  ought  to  be, 

Or  which  were  better,  that  or  this, 
Dear  Lord,  choose  Thou  for  me. 

Whether  I  run  life's  rugged  way 

With  limb  and  muscle  strong  and  free, 
Or  bear  some  load  of  pain  each  day, 

Dear  Lord,  choose  Thou  for  me. 

\ 

Or  want,  or  wealth,  or  dearer  yet 
The  competence  I  fain  would  see, 

What  measure  of  earth's  goods  I  get 
Dear  Lord,  choose  Thou  for  me. 

I  would  not  wish  for  length  of  days, 
Though  every  age  hath  ecstasy, 

I  leave  with  Thee  my  yesterdays, 
My  morrows,  choose  for  me, 

Thy  will  is  best,  is  always  best, 
No  other  good  I  crave  of  Thee, 

But  just  in  Thy  sweet  will  to  rest, 
Dear  Lord,  choose  Thou  for  me. 

Oakland,   California,   Sunday  morning,   October 
30,  1898, 


166 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


A  TRAVELLER'S  TRUST. 

WHEN  love  or  duty  calls  me  forth 

I  counsel  not  with  fear; 
Or  east,  or  west,  or  south,  or  north, 

I  go  my  way  with  cheer, 
Secure  am  I  on  land  or  sea 
Because  my  Father  keepeth  me. 

No  foolish  confidence  have  I 
That  mishaps  may  not  come, 

For  life  hath  much  of  mystery, 
And  man  may  well  be  dumb, 

Nor  boast  God's  purpose,  since  it  lies 

Far  hidden  from  our  human  eyes. 

No  claim  of  service  can  I  make 
That  God  should  spare  me  still, 

For  if  He  give  me  grace  to  take 
My  burdens  with  good  will 

There  is  no  burden  I  can  bear 

His  might  and  wisdom  could  not  spare. 

And  still  I  go  my  way  in  peace, 

On  land  or  sea  the  same, 
Until  He  makes  my  goings  cease, 


167 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  calleth  me  by  name; 
The  way  before  is  ever  dim 
But  I  can  leave  it  all  with  Him. 

So  on  I  freely  go  at  call 

Of  duty  or  of  love, 
I  know  that  nothing  can  befall 

That  is  not  willed  above ; 
It  matters  little  when  or  where 
Since  I  am  always  in  God's  care. 

Lodi,  California,  November  26,  1898. 


GOD'S  GRACE. 

I  AM  not  what  I  should  be  the  Word  of  God 

reveals, 
I  am  not  what  I  could  be  my  heart  within  me 

feels, 

I  am  not  what  I  shall  be  when  I  behold  His  face, 
But  what  I  am  I  am  through  Him  and  only  by 

His  grace. 

If  there  is  any  good  in  me  it  is  not  of  my  own, 
If  there  is  any  grace  it  is  the  grace  of  God  alone, 
My  sin  is  mine,  I  blame  it  not  on  anyone  beside, 
The  fault  is  mine,  the  grace  alone  is   His.  the 
Crucified. 

168 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

I  tremble  when  I  see  myself  the  man  I  might  have 

been, 
I  dare  not  count  impossible  the  deepest  depth  of 

sin, 
The  meanest  mortal  whom  I  meet,  however  low 

he  be, 
But  for  the  saving  grace  of  God  is  none  too  low 

for  me. 

I  know  that  God  has  more  for  me  than  I  have 

ever  dreamed, 
Though  I  be  counted  least  among  the  host  of 

the  redeemed, 
But  whether  much  or  little  of  His  blessedness  be 

mine 
I  cannot  count  it  my  reward,  'tis  all  of  grace 

divine. 

God's  grace  is  all  my  confidence,  His  goodness  all 

my  stay. 
I  stand  upon  His  promises,  He  will  not  say  me 

nay; 
I  trust  no  arm  of  flesh  to  save,  no  merit  of  mine 

own, 
But  my  faith  abideth  ever  in  the  grace  of  God 

alone. 

Oakland.  Cal.,  Oct.  31,  1898. 

. 
169 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


"IN  EVERYTHING  GIVE  THANKS.' 

"!N  everything  give  thanks."     In  everything? 

Aye!  soul  of  mine! 
In  all  thy  lot,  whate'er  thy  years  may  bring, 

Let  praise  be  thine. 

Thou  dost  not  know  the  evil  from  the  good; 

Why  moan  thy  fate? 
Some  day  God's  leadings  shall  be  understood : 

Give  thanks,  and  wait. 

Would'st  thou  receive  His  blessings  with  com 
plaint? 

Be  patient  then, 
Lest  thou  mistake  Him;  still  thy  childish  plaint, 

Give  thanks  again. 

Give  thanks  in  everything;  when  troubles  come 

And  cares  perplex, 

When   the  world  chills  thee,   and   thy  heart  is 
numb 

Amid  life's  wrecks: 

When  loved  ones  leave  thee  broken-hearted  here 

To  follow  Death, 
And  all  life's  sunshine  seems  to  disappear 

With  their  last  breath: 

170 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Aye !  when  Death  beckons  thee  to  leave  the  known 

And  loved  below, 
When  thou  art  trembling  on  the  brink  alone 

Afraid  to  go: 

In  everything  give  thanks;  in  joy  or  pain, 

In  life  or  death, 
Let  come  what  will,  do  thou  give  thanks  again 

With  every  breath : 

And  God  shall  hold  thee,   God  shall  help  thee 
through, 

Aye!  more  than  this, 
Thou  canst  not  praise  Him  as  thou  shouldest  do 

And  fail  of  bliss. 

In  everything  give  thanks,  and  God  shall  give 

Heaven's  better  part, 
The  grace  that  makes  it  worth  the  while  to  live, 

A  thankful  heart. 

On  Pullman  Car,  "Cordero,"  en  route  from  Los 
Angeles  to  San  Francisco,  Thanksgiving  Day, 
November  24,  1898. 


171 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


INFLUENCE. 

life  is  of  little  moment" 
She  said  with  a  weary  sigh; 

When  the  day  was  done, 

And  the  summer  sun 
Went  down  in  a  clouded  sky. 

All  day  have  I  toiled  for  trifles, 
In  the  city's  crowded  ways; 

With  the  busy  throng 

Have   I   rushed  along, 
Alas,  for  my  wasted  days." 

So  spake  she,  and  wept  in  sadness, 
For  life  seemed  so  empty  then, 
And  she  longed  to  do 
Something  great  or  new, 
To  work  for  the  weal  of  men. 

She  little  knew  that  at  noon-day 
A  poet  had  passed  her  by, 
And  had  somehow  caught 
From  her  face  a  thought 
That  filled  him  with  melody. 

172 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

She  stayed  her  steps  but  a  moment 
To  read  from  a  recent  book, 

But  a  passing  sage 

Saw  the  title  page, 
And  the  theme  for  an  essay  took. 

She  smiled  with  unconscious  pleasure 
At  some  fancy  pure,  and  glad; 

But  she  never  guessed 

How  the  joy  light  blessed 
A  soul  that  was  faint  and  sad. 

She  saw  not  the  sinful  woman, 

To  whom  she  was  grace  and  truth; 

Who  longed  for  the  days 

And  the  sinless  ways 
Of  her  own  long-buried  youth. 

Thus  on  through  the  day  she  journeyed, 
And  knew  not  the  gift  she  had; 

But  so  strangely  blind, 

And  so  dull  of  mind, 
That  the  hours  but  made  her  sad. 

On  a  harp  of  a  thousand  heart-strings, 
She  played  with  unconscious  might; 

And  the  music  grew, 

All  the  long  day  through, 
Like  widening  waves  of  light. 

173 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Far  down  through  the  misty  mazes 
Of  the  labyrinth  of  time, 

To  the  shoreless  sea 

Of  eternity, 
Echoed  and  swelled  the  chime. 


And  the  angels  almost  envied 
The  good  that  she  did  that  day, 
For  the  world  will  fail, 
And  the  stars  grow  pale, 
But  our  works  live  on  for  aye. 


Yet  she  wept  that  night  in  sadness, 
For  life  seemed  so  empty  then, 
And  she  longed  to  do 
Something  great  or  new, 
To  work  for  the  weal  of  men. 

Salem.  Oregon. 


174 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


HAND  AND  HEART. 

GIVE  me  the  man  who  loves  his  work 

However  hard  ft  be, 
Who  only  thinks  it  mean  to  shirk 

And  hates  the  hireling's  plea; 
Though  hands  and  face  be  hard  and  brown, 

That  were  a  trivial  thing; 
Who  wears  his  duty  like  a  crown 

Is  every  inch  a  king. 

No  honest  labor  can  disgrace 

The  man  whose  heart  is  true; 
He  scorns  himself  and  not  his  place 

Who  can  consent  to  do 
In  any  mean,  half-hearted  way 

The  smallest  service  given; 
The  common  tasks  of  every  day 

Are  all  ordained  of  heaven. 

Is  thy  task  lowly?  Lift  it  up! 

Let  it  be  wisely  willed. 
Who  cares  how  poor  and  plain  the  cup 

So  it  be  richly  filled? 
Be  it  thy  task  to  till  the  soil, 

Or  do  the  drudge's  part, 
Fill  thy  poor  cup  of  common  toil 

With  nobleness  of  heart. 

Oakland,  Cal.,  1898. 

175 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


WISHING. 

IF  some  fair  visitant  from  realms  of  light 

Could  speak  to  you, 
And   promise  to  fulfill  each  wish  to-night, 

What  would  you  do? 

You  care  for  riches,  only  thus  to  bless 

Another's  need ; 
But  wealth  that  noble  passion  might  repress, 

And  spoil  the  deed. 

And  even  health,  so  rich  and  rare  a  boon, 

Unfailing  strength, 
As  wearisome  as  an  eternal  noon 

Might  prove  at  length. 

Nor  would  it  satisfy  if  you  could  gaze 

Beyond  the  tomb, 
And  read  the  mysteries  of  coming  days, — 

The  scrolls  of  doom. 

Even  the  wish  to  comprehend  all  truth, 

And  know  what  is, 
Would  rob  the  soul  of  its  unfailing  youth, 

And  highest  bliss. 


176 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

There  is  no  wish  your  human  lips  could  speak 

That  is  not  ill, 
Which  you,  yourself,  however  poor  and  weak, 

Cannot  fulfill. 


The  things  you  covet  in  your  daily  speech 

Are  not  for  you, 
Or  else  they  lie  already  in  your  reach 

If  you  pursue. 


And  so,  believe  me,  what  you  wish  to-night 

Is  either  ill, 
Or  you  can  win  it,  and  enjoy  the  fight, 

If  you  but  will. 

And  you  can  say,  of  things  which  lie  beyond, 

Toward  which  you  run, 
With  quiet  patience,  and  with  faith  most  fond, 

"Thy  will  be  done." 


You  need  no  angel  from  the  realms  of  light 

To  work  for  you ; 
For,  better  than  you  dare  to  wish  tonight, 

Yourself  can  do. 
Salem,  Oregon. 


T77 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

A  DREAM  OF  JUDGMENT. 

THE  Year  was  dying,  as  I  slept,  and  dreamed, 

•  •  •  •  • 

Methought  I  sat  upon  some  heavenly  hill, 
And  lo!  an  angel,  with  reluctant  look, 

Brought  me,  in  silence  that  portended  ill, 
A  ponderous  book. 


I  opened  then,  and  on  the  title  leaf 

I  saw  my  name,  and,  written  overhead, 

"Here  is  the  record,  for  this  year  so  brief, 
What  thou  hast  said." 


I  smiled  to  see  the  .year  began  with  prayer, 
And  high  resolves,  and  wishes  good  and  true : 

In  golden  letters  they  were  written  there, 
Though  very  few. 


Soon  were  they  followed  by  such  foolish  words, 
Such  trivial  talk,  and  unbecoming  jest, 

My  feelings   fell,  like  poor  wing-wounded  birds, 
And  fled  my  zest. 


178 


My   Country   and  Other  Verse. 

My  face  was  fire,  and  gladly  had  I  turned 
From  reading  the  long  record  of  my  shame, 

The  endless  pages  held  me,  though  I  burned 
As  in  a  flame. 


Nor  blushed  I  only  for  my  speech  inane : 

Wild  words  were  there;  keen,  poison-pointed 
darts, 

And  reckless  words,  still  dyed  with  the  red  stain 
Of  bleeding  hearts. 

I  writhed  the  while  I  read  what  cruel  things 
My  pride  had  counted  clever  on  my  lips; 

Their  serpent  beauty  hid  the  serpent  stings 
Of  gibes  and  quips. 

On,  on  I  read,  nor  could  lift  up  mine  eyes, 
So  strength  forsook  me,  so  my  will  was  gone; 
For  days,  and  days,  and  days,  with  groans  ana 

cries, 
I  read  right  on. 


Oh  I  had  swooned  with  pain,  mine  eyes  had  burst, 
But  for  the  golden-lettered  words  between, 

For  where  the  record  of  my  speech  was  worst 
Some  good  was  seen. 


179 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Alas,  how  little!  though  God  marked  it  all; 

No  goodly  word  but  shone  with  kindly  light, 
No  accent  missing  charity  could  call 

Or  true,  or  right. 


My  task  undone,  again  the  angel  came, 

And  softly  placed  a  kindred  volume  near; 
And  here  was  written,  nothing  but  my  name, 

And,  "The  New  Year." 

*  *  * 

I  waked,  and  wept,  as  the  New  Year  began. 
Oakland,  Cal..  December,  1897. 


MOURNING  FOR  MOSES. 

DEAD  was  their  great  Commander, 

That  meek  but  mighty  man, 
The  strength  and  hope  of  Israel 

Since  Israel's  course  began; 
Before  whose  face  the  Chosen  Race 

Had  come  to  manhood's  years, 
The  children  of  the  wilderness, 

Born  of  his  prayers  and  tears. 

180 


My   Country   and  Other  Verse. 

After  the  days  of  mourning 

Came  the  divine  command, 
"Moses  is  deadj  now  therefore 

Go  on,  and  take  the  land! 
Moses  is  dead,  who  long  hath  led 

The  host  of  God  below, 
But  still  abide  the  promises, 

Let  Israel  forward  go." 


"Now,  therefore,"  strange  conclusion 

Of  logic  all  divine; 
God  makes  their  vast  calamity 

The  nation's  rallying  sign ; 
The  great  soul  gone  yet  bids  them  on, 

And  cheers  them  to  the  fray, 
For  he  who  died  on  Pisgah  still 

To  Canaan  leads  the  way. 


How  could  they  mourn  him  better? 

How  could  they  praise  him  more? 
"Moses  is  dead,  now  therefore, 

By  all  he  braved  and  bore, 
Let  us  go  on  till  we  have  won 

The  land  he  loved  and  sought, 
The  land  which  last  his  eyes  beheld, 

Which  last  was  in  his  thought." 


181 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

His  was  no  tomb  of  marble, 

No  proud  triumphal  arch, 
Grander  was  his  memorial, 

A  nation's  forward  march; 
Their  onward  ways  all  spoke  his  praise, 

Though  others  held  command, 
They  wrote  the  great  man's  epitaph 

Upon  a  conquered  land. 

O  friends  whose  eyes  are  heavy 

With  tears  for  heroes  gone, 
They  best  mourn  their  beloved 

Who  faithfully  press  on; 
Let  fall  who  will  God  liveth  still, 

Still  human  duties  stand, 
And  still  God  guides  His  Israel 

On  toward  the  promised  land. 

Not  by  our  vain  repinings, 

Nor  yet  by  idle  tears, 
We  build   their  best  memorials 

Who  wrought  with  us  for  years; 
We  honor  most  our  loved  and  lost 

By  holding  on  our  way, 
By  doing  what  themselves  would  do 

If  they  were  here  to-day. 

Oakland,  Cal. 

182 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

A  REVERIE. 

[On  a  San  Francisco  ferry-boat.] 

WITH  what  indifference  a  thousand  eyes 

Have  passed  me  by; 

Only  a  stranger  whom  none  recognize, 
Nor  love,  nor  hate,  nor  envy,  nor  despise, 
Scarce  deemed  as  worthy  of  a  second  glance 
As  yonder  waves  that  in  the  sunlight  dance ; 

With  careful  eye 

I  seek  some  face  that  will  respond  to  mine, 
Not  one  is  here  to  give  me  friendly  sign. 


Yet  here  are  hundreds,  some  of  whom  no  doubt 

Had  Fate  ordained, 
Might  have  been  friends  whom  life  were  void 

without, 

Might  have  transfigured  me  and  all  about; 
The  inspiration  of  their  lives  and  thought 
Who  can  determine  what  it  might  have  wrought? 

What  I  had  gained 

If,  by  some  trifling  change  of  circumstance 
We  had  been  freed  from  mutual  ignorance. 


183 


My   Country   and  Other  Verse. 

Who  knows  but  yonder  stranger's  heart  contains 

Such  wealth  of  love 

As  might  have  eased  me  of  a  hundred  pains, 
And  more  than  doubled  all  life's  lasting  gains? 
Who  knows  but  that  we  sometime  yet  shall  meet  ? 
If  not  on  earth,  where  life  is  incomplete, 

Perhaps  above 

When  countless  ages  shall  have  passed  awray 
We  shall  be  friends,  who  meet  and  pass  to-day? 


Oft,  as  a  stranger  passes  me,  I  think 

What  might  have  been, 

Had  Fate  supplied  us  friendship's  missing  link. 
One  word  had  bridged  the  gulf,  from  brink  to 

brink, 

And  to  a  sweet  companionship  had  led ; 
But  somehow  that  one  word  was  left  unsaid, 

And  we  have  seen 

Each  other's  faces,  but  we  do  not  know 
How  much  we  lose  to  pass  each  other  so. 


184 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


FLOOD-TIDES. 

How  fret  the  waters  of  this  shallow  stream 
'Gainst  the  half  stranded  logs  on  either  side, 
Too  soon  entrusted  to  the  feeble  tide 

Whose  strength  the  sun  hath  sapped  with  piercing 
beam: 

A  little  while  and  all  will  changed  seem ; 
Here  the  abundant  floods  will  smoothly  glide 
While  on  their  bosom  the  great  timbers  ride, 

Light  as  the  drift  wood  fancies  of  a  dream. 


So  when  the  flood  tide  of  emotion  fills 

The  oft  depleted  channels  of  my  thought, 
And  one  strong  purpose  all  my  life  doth 

sway, 
I  shall  uplift  the  thousand  petty  ills 

With  which  my  present    course    seems    over- 
fraught, 
And  bear  them  uncomplainingly  away. 

Salem,  Oregon. 


185 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


SUMMER-NOON  IN  THE  SISKIYOUS. 

HERE  in  this  high-swung  cradle  of  the  hills 
The  languorous  breezes  all  are  lulled  to  sleep, 
And  the  great  trees  a  whispering  vigil  keep, 

While  Mother  Earth  some  insect  ditty  trills. 

Now  falls  a  veil  of  haze,  and  lightly  fills 

With  its  voluptuous  folds,  from  steep  to  steep ; 
Save  where  some  sunbeam  lifts  an  edge  to  peep, 

Or  tears  the  tender  fabric  as  he  wills. 


Dost  hear  the  baby-breathings  of  the  breeze? 
And  see !  how  lifts  the  silken  sheen  a  while, 
WTiere  yonder  one  hath  waked,  and  turned 

him  o'er; 
Even  the  whispers  cease  among  the  trees, 

And  the  sly  sunbeams,  with  approving  smile, 

Let  all  the  lifted  edges  fall  once  more. 
Salem,  Oregon,  1892. 


186 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


DEATH  AT  THE  WORLD'S  FAIR. 

HE  came,  whom  none  invited  to  the  Fair; 

Robed  in  the  darkest  raiment  of  the  Night, 

He  stalked  unseen  through  colonnades  of  white, 
Himself  the  only  Monarch  who  was  there. 
None  but  the  most  despondent  slave  of  care 

Paid  willing  homage  to  his  sovereign  might; 

And  yet  his  least  command  none  thought  to 

slight, 
Nor  gates,  nor  guards  his  kingship  could  impair. 


His  touch  had  crumbled  beauty,  fortune,  fame, 
But  love  restrained  him:  only  once  he  rode 

Resplendent  in  his  chariot  of  flame; 
And  once  again  he  baffled  with  a  breath 

Life's  leaping  purpose,  whose  last  ember  glowed 
A  huge  reflection  of  the  face  of  Death. 

Salem,  Oregon,  1892. 


187 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


AN  EARTHQUAKE  IN  CALIFORNIA. 

THE  virgin  earth  beheld  her  beauteous  face 
So  fair  reflected  in  our  silver  skies 
She  half  denied  the  vision  of  her  eyes 

Nor  could  concede  herself  such  gift  of  grace. 

The  warm  blood  bounded  through  her  veins  apace, 
She  smiled,  and  blushed  again,  with  sweet  sur 
prise, 
And  felt  her  fawn-like  bosom  fall  and  rise 

Like  maiden's  breast,  beneath  its  veil  of  lace. 

And  lo !  as  men  flocked  forth  in  false  alarm 
Their  petty  fears  amused  the  roguish  miss; 

More  anxious  now  to  trifle  than  to  charm 

She  tossed  her  ringlets  back  with  merry  zest, 
And  threw  the  bending  skies  a  saucy  kiss, 

While  laughter  rippled  over  all  her  breast. 

Oakland,  Cal. 


1 88 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


COLUMBUS. 

COLUMBUS,  when  thy  mortal  bark  drew  near 
The  thronged  shores  of  the  Islands  of  the  Blest, 
Where  still  they  follow  life's  eternal  quest 

Whose  faith  wrought  wonders  while  they  labored 
here, 

Who  gave  thee  welcome  to  that  wondrous  sphere  ? 
Some  old  Phoenician,  whose  divine  unrest 
Drove  him  beyond  the  pillars  of  the  west, 

The  "Ne  Plus  Ultra"  of  Greek  pride  and  fear? 


Or  he  whose  many  tales  of  many  lands 

Filled  Greece  with  wonder?     Or  yet  he  who 

bore 
The  name  of  kings,  and  more  than  kingly 

sway? 

Surely  there  met  thee  on  those  golden  sands 
Some  soul  of  the  great  mariners  of  yore, 
Some  prophet  of  the  fame  thou  hast  to-day. 

Salem,  Oregon,  1892. 


189 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


TO  AN  ARGONAUT  AT  SEVENTY. 

"THREE  score  and  ten!  all's  well!"  the  watchers 

cry, 

And  from  the  rounding  ramparts  of  the  soul 
Like  loud  artillery  the  echoes  roll 
Through  the  broad  arches  of  the  boundless  sky. 
And  lo!  the  clock  of  life  makes  slow  reply 
From  its  red  turret,  where  the  blood  beats  toil 
For  the  dead  hour:   Night  lifts  her  saffron  stole, 
And  the  eternal  morning  draweth  nigh. 

Stay  thy  departure,  well-beloved  guest, 

Till  Nature's  timepiece  sounds  another  score. 
Thy  comrades,  the  brave  argonauts  of  yore, 
May  spare  thee  yet  a  little  from  their  quest: 
Stay  thou,  and  take  with  us  thy  well-earned  rest, 
While  waiting  Charon  leans  upon  his  oar. 

Oakland,  Cal. 


100 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


IN  TIME  OF  MELTING  SNOW. 

BEAUTY  has  fled  the  half-worn  web  of  snow 
That  erst-while  robed  her  in  divinest  white: 
Now  limp  and  soiled  it  meets  the  offended  sight ; 

Ho!  rain-maids,  bear  the  cast-off  garb  below! 

But  where  has  Beauty  gone?    Hist!    Would'st 

thou  know? 
Where  dwells  the  Great  Modiste,  and  day  and 

night, 
From  out  the  stores  of  everlasting  light, 

Her  silent  shuttles  flashing  to  and  fro, 


Fashions  the  ever-changing  robes  of  earth, 
And  dyes  them  in  the  blushes  of  the  sun. 

There  in  her  slippered  feet  has  Beauty  gone. 
There,  while   the   day's    forlornness   checks    our 

mirth, 

The  fairies  bring  her  vestments,  one  by  one, 
And  lo!  she  puts  her  spring-tide  costume  on. 

Salem.  Oregon. 


191 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


THE  UNEXPRESSED. 

-j 

THE  monarch  of  the  forest  plays  his  part 
With  poor  effect  when  caged  within  our  reach ; 
And  thoughts  are  native  to  the  human  heart 
Which  lose  their  greatness  when  constrained  by 

speech : 

In  the  vast  solitudes  of  every  soul 
What  mighty  passions  move  with  kingly  tread, 
What  voices  through  the  depths  of  being  roll 
That  e'er  they  reach  the  outer  world  are  dead. 

Salem.  Oregon. 


CHRISTMAS. 

O,  CHILD  of  Bethlehem,  blest  Mary's  Son! 

This  day  recalls  Thy  pure  nativity ; 

The  swaddling  clothes  of  our  humanity 
Again  invest  Thee,  God's  own  Holy  One. 
Thy  manger-throne,  refulgent  as  the  sun, 

Shines  o'er  the  centuries  with  prophecy 

Of  largest  and  divinest  destiny 
For  our  low  nature  by  Thy  advent  won. 


192 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Our  hearts  without    Thee  are  but  stony  stalls 
In  which  the  lean  kine  of  unfed  desire 

Lie  famished,  while  the  darkness  spreads  apace. 

Thy  birth  makes  every  heart  God's  dwelling  place 
Where  light  of  love  o'er  all  our  being  falls 
And    makes    of   our    brute   bodies    something 
higher. 

Oakland,  Cal.,  1897. 


WHO  WEEPS  TO-DAY? 


(A    Song   of   consolation    for    the    sorrowing    at 
Christmas-tide.) 


O  SORE  and  sad  at  heart  this  happy  morn, 

Who  almost  dread  the  merry  Christmas-tide, 
For  that  its  gladness  maketh  more  forlorn 

With  memories  that  will  not  be  denied; 
Grieving  beneath  the  smiles  you  would  comipel 

That  others  may  not  miss  their  wonted  cheer: 
Hath  not  this  morn  of  morns  some  word  to  tell 

To  make  it  vet  the  gladdest  of  the  year? 


193 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  who  shall  more  rejoice  on  Christmas  morn 

Than  they  who  most  have  need  to  know  God's 

love? 
Who  more  be  comforted  that  Christ  is  born 

Than  hearts  that  ache  for  glimpse  of  life  above  ? 
Since  by  His  advent  hope  and  comfort  came, 

Who  shall  more  welcome  Him  than  sorrow's 

heirs  ? 
The  grieving  and  the  heart-sick  well  may  claim 

This  blessed  morning  as  divinely  theirs. 

The  haughty-hearted  well  may  weep  to-day, 

Since  His  low  birth  condemns  the  pride  of  man ; 
The  selfish  rich  may  view  with  sore  dismay 

The  manger  cradle  where  His  life  began. 
No  comfort  is  there  in  this  holy  morn 

For  the  world-wealthy,  and  the  self-sufficed, 
But  for  the  sin-sick  and  the  sorrow-worn, 

What  joy  to  greet  the  birth-morn  of  the  Christ! 
".-; 

Aye !  day  of  days  is  this  for  them  that  mourn — 

Day  of  the  revelation  of  God's  grace, 
Day  of  immortal  hope  that  knows  no  bourn, 

Day  of  all  consolation  for  our  race; 
Day  of  all  expectation;  long  foretold; 

The  dream  of  ages  upon  ages  gone; 
Day  whose  remembrance  never  shall  grow  old 

While  the  slow  march  of  centuries  goes  on. 


194 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

Wherefore  be  comforted,  nor  weep  to-day 

When  earth  is  joyous  with  triumphal  song. 
Well  may  we  put  our  sorrowings  away 

To  join  the  chorus  of  the  angel  throng; 
Well  may  we  welcome  Him  with  holy  glee, 

Though  some  sweet  fellowship  we  sorely  miss, 
Whom  God  hath  given  evermore  to  be 

Pledge  of  unending  fellowship  in  bliss. 

Oakland,  Cal..  Christmas,  1897. 


KISS-POCKETS. 

SHE  has  no  pockets  in  her  dress;  of  course  that 
wouldn't  do; 

But  in  her  pretty,  dimpled  cheeks  the  Lord  Him 
self  made  two ; 

And  though  the  styles  may  change  again,  dress 
pockets  come  and  go, 

Those  blessed  dimpled  pockets  in  her  cheeks  are 
always  so. 

I  call  them  her  kiss-pockets,  for  it's  plain  enough 

to  see 
That's  what  they  were  intended  for;  those  two 

were  made  for  me ; 
195 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

I  have  some  twenty  pockets,  if  she  wants  them 

for  her  pelf, 
But  the  pretty  pockets  in  her  cheeks  I  claim  them 

both  myself. 

A  woman's  pockets,  some  folks  say,  a  man  can 

never  find^ 
But  I  could  find  those  pockets  though  the  blindest 

of  the  blind ; 
The  darkness  doesn't  phase  me,  and  I  just  don't 

care  a  whang 
When  I'm  hunting  for  those  pockets,   how  or 

where  her  dresses  hang. 

Ah  those  pretty  dimple  pockets,  they  are  lined 

with  softest  silk; 
Sometimes  it's  red  as  roses,  and  sometimes  it's 

white  as  milk; 
Sometimes  they're  wide,  wide  open,  with  a  happy 

laugh  or  grin, 
And  sometimes   I   am   puzzled  how  to   get  my 

kisses  in. 


But  they  never,  never  fail  me;  even  when  she 

tries  to  pout 

My  lips  are  sure  to  find  them  and  they  quickly 
open  out; 


196 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

And  the  nicest  thing  about  them  is,  each  pretty 

nectar  cup 
Is  never  empty  of  delight,  and  never  quite  filled 

up. 

Los   Angeles,   Cal.,  November,  19,  1898. 


IN  ANGER. 

THY  friend  was  wrathful,  and  with  angry  word 
And  harsh  complaint,  berated  thee  for  faults 
Thou  knowest  not;  and  his  unkind  assaults 

With  sense  of  injury  thy  heart  have  stirred. 

Such  vile  abuse  thou  hast  not  often  heard, 
Nor  been  so  wronged :  but  when  thy  passion 

halts, 
And  reason  rules  again,  search  all  the  vaults 

Of  thy  profoundest  being;  yea,  and  gird 

Thyself  with  candor,  if  thou  would'st  be  pure. 
Wrath  sometimes  makes  men  honest,  and  they 
speak 

What  in  their  usual  moods  they  dare  but  feel, 
To  utter  which  they  are  too  kind  or  weak. 
The  lightning  flash  of  anger  may  reveal 

Faults  that  the  sheen  of  praise  doth  but  obscure. 

Salem,  Oregon. 

197 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


MY  '  BOZZER  BODY." 

MY  little  girl  the  other  day 

Came  roughly  rushing  in   from  play 

Her  feet  all  soiled  and  soddy, 
And  straightway  climbing  on  my  knees 
She  gave  my  neck  a  hearty  squeeze, 
And  said,  the  roguish  little  tease, 

"Here  comes  'ur  bozzer  body." 


I  drew  her  quickly  to  my  breast 
And  as  she  nestled  there  at  rest 

Her  quaint  phrase  I  repeated ; 
My  "bozzer  body,"  and  I  smiled, 
And  kissed  the  forehead  of  the  child, 
And  into  restful  sleep  beguiled 

The  babe  so  over-heated* 


The  earthy  shoes  I  laid  aside, 

Brushed  back  the  tumbled  curls  with  pride, 

And  then,  with  touch  most  tender, 
I  laid  my  "bozzer  body"  down, 
And  straightened  out  her  crumpled  gown, 
Nor  stain  nor  wrinkle  made  me  frown 

Upon  the  sweet  offender. 


198 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

How  little  could  my  loved  one  know 
The  measure  of  a  mother's  woe, 

Her  long  self-abnegation; 
My  "bozzer  body,"   and   I   thought 
What  cost  of  care  my  babe  had  brought, 
What  aches  and  pains  were  daily  wrought 

Into  her  education. 


And  yet  I  prize  her  more  for  this, 
For  even  troubles  yield  me  bliss, 

And  pain  is  rich  in  pleasure, 
All   I   have  suffered  through  the  years, 
The  mother's  tribute,  toil  and  tears, 
My  "bozzer  body"  but  endears 

And  makes  her  more  my  treasure. 


And  if  to  gain  her  highest  good 
I  needs  must  eat  the  plainest  food, 

And  wear  the  meanest  shoddy, 
If  all  my  pains  were  doubled  twice 
I  would  not  then  refuse  the  price 
Since  sweet  is  every  sacrifice 

For  her,  my  "bozzer  body." 

Salem,  Oregon. 


199 


Afy   Country  and  Other  Verse* 


A  SLANG  SONG. 

WHEN  the  world  looks  dark,  my  brother,  and  you 

don't  know  where  to  turn, 
When  in  spite  of  every  help  your  spirits  droop, 
There's  a  homely  bit  of  slang  it  will  do  no  harm 

to  learn, 
You're  not  the  only  oyster  in  the  soup. 


Chorus — 

You're  not  alone  in  sorrow,  you're  not  alone  in 

bliss, 

This  world's  a  pretty  crowded  bit  o'  hoop, 
But  you'll  get  a  lot  of  comfort  if  you'll  just  re 
member  this, 
You're  not  the  only  oyster  in  the  soup. 

When  you're  whining  and  complaining  o'er  the 

ailings  of  the  flesh — 
For  you'll   not   get  rid   of  all   of  them  with 

croup — 
Just  remember  this,  my  brother,  as  you  turn,  and 

and  toss,  and  thresh, 
You're  not  the  only  oyster  in  the  soup. 


200 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

When  you've  had  a  little  triumph,  and  you're  rosy 

with  success, 
When  you're  longing  just  to  get  out  doors  and 

whoop, 
Shout  all  you  will,  and  frolic,  but  remember  none 

the  less, 
You're  hot  the  only  oyster  in  the  soup. 


And  when  you  get  to  thinking  that  the  world 

can't  get  along 

Unless  you  kill  yourself,  don't  be  a  dupe; 
Take  things  a  little  easy,  there  are  others  just  as 

strong ; 
You're  not  the  only  oyster  in  the  soup. 


Just  be  a  bit  unselfish,  live  for  others  all  you  can ; 

To  your  fallen  brother's  weakness  kindly  stoop ; 
And  remember  this,  my  brother,  if  youM  be  a 
gentleman, 

You're  not  the  only  oyster  in  the  soup. 

Oakland.  Cal.,  October,  1898. 


201 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


SUNSET     THROUGH     THE     GOLDEN 
GATE. 

GOD  flings  His  furnace  doors  ajar, 

The  red  glow  flashes  forth; 
And  now,  with  yonder  fog-wreathed  bar, 

Some  Titan  of  the  North 
Stirs  madly  till  the  gleaming  mass 

Throws  out  ten  thousand  jets  of  gas. 


The  cloud  doors  close,  and  from  below 

Gushes  the  molten  tide, 
Over  the  sea  its  yellow  glow 

Spreads  swiftly  far  and  wide, 
And  moulds  unnumbered  hide  away 

The  glory  of  departing  day. 

Oakland,  Cal.,  October  2p,  1898. 


202 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

I.  WOOD. 

(A  Poetical  Pun.) 

(Lines  written  on  the  occasion  of  the  Silver  Wed 
ding  of  Rev.  and  Mrs.  I.  D.  Wood, 
of  Oakland,  Cal.) 

WHEN  first  it  was  proposed  to  me 

With  many  words  polite, 
That  I  should  the  toast-master  be, 

And  lead  the  fun  to-night, 
I  own  that  I  was  somewhat  scared, 

And  didn't  think  I  could, 
But  there  the  answer  sat  and  stared, 

A  living  pledge  I.  Wood. 

I  thought  I  wouldn't  try  to  rhyme, 

But  keep  to  sober  prose, 
For  verse  don't  always  come  to  time, 

As  everybody  knows; 
But  though  he  didn't  ask  me  to, 

WTiich  certainly  wras  good, 
I  didn't  know  what  else  to  do, 

Of  course  he  knew  I.  Wood. 

What  shall  my  theme  be  ?  then  I  thought, 

Domestic  love  and  bliss? 
Or  shall  I  sing  what  men  have  wrought 

Since  these  gave  their  first  kiss? 
203 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

I  won't  be  personal,  I  know, 

I  said  in  lofty  mood ; 
Alas;  I  couldn't  make  it  so, 

The  muse  just  said,  I.  Wood. 

So  I  begin  where  he  began, 

And  venture  to  suppose 
That  when  the  baby,  now  a  man, 

On  life's  horizon  rose, 
His  mother  had  a  time,  I  fear, 

To  get  him  to  be  good, 
For  when  she  said,  "I  wouldn't,  dear," 

He  knew  she  meant,  I.  Wood. 

And  when  the  babe  became  a  man, 

And  courting  went  his  way, 
I  guess  his  girl,  whate'er  her  plan, 

Was  puzzled  what  to  say. 
What  could  she  do  in  self  defense. 

And  still  be  understood? 
When  if  he  asked  her  preference 

She  had  to  say,  I.  Wood. 

Why  even  Peter  at  the  gate 
Will  hardly  understand 
Just  what  this  man  may  mean  to  state 

If,  when  he  makes  demand, 
"Your  name  must  on  my  book  appear 

Among  the  true  and  good, 
If  you  would  think  to  enter  here," 
He  meekly  says,  I.  Wood. 
204 


My.   Country  and  Other  Verse, 


SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

DOWN  in  the  sunny  south-land,  where  the  flowers 
bloom  all  the  year, 

Where  the  splendor  of  the  sunshine  makes  the 
canopy  appear 

Like  John's  celestial  vision  of  the  sea  of  glass 
and  fire — 

Down  in  the  sunny  south-land  is  the  Eden  of  De 
sire. 

The  glory  shimmers  softly  from  the  empyrean 
down 

On  the  tanned  and  sun-burned  mountains;  smil 
ing  through  their  freckle-brown 

They  lift  bare,  swarthy  faces  ever  upward  toward 
the  light 

Save  when  the  winter  veils  them  for  a  little  while 
in  white. 

The  olive,  and  the  lemon,  and  the  orange  groves 

are  green 
Down  in  the  sunny  south-land,  never  richer  hues 

were  seen, 

They  gleam  with  gold  and  silver,  pop-corn  blos 
som,  yellow  sphere, 

For  in  the  sunny  south-land  it  is  Christmas  all  the 
year. 

205 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 

The  cities  of   the  south-land   on   her  beauteous 

bosom  rest, 
Like    gems    of    pearl    and    diamond    on    lovely 

woman's  breast; 
They   flash   with   beauty,    throb   with   life,    they 

bring  the  heavens  near; 
The  very  saints  and  angels  in  their  shining  streets 

appear. 


Oh  sunny,  sunny  south-land,  favored  of  the  fav 
ored  state! 

California's  California!  land  where  God  doth 
recreate ! 

Thy  praises  linger  lovingly  upon  the  willing 
tongue, 

And  still  when  we  have  said  our  best  thy  praises 
are  unsung. 

Los  Angeles,  Cal.,  November  23,  1898. 


206 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 


A  MINISTER  OF  JESUS. 

(Lines   written   at  the   ordination    of    Frank  W. 
Woods,  of  Pasadena.  Cal.,  Nov.  21,  1898.) 

A  minister  of  Jesus,  an  ambassador  of  Christ! 
Surely,  such   an   holy   office  for  the   angels   had 

sufficed ! 
And  we !  we  are  but  human,  let  men  dub  us  what 

they  will, 
In  spite  of  cloth  and  title  we  are  only  mortal  still. 

A  minister  of  Jesus,  of  the  pure  incarnate  Word ! 
How  shall  we  speak  the  message  that  in  spirit  we 

have  heard? 
How  shall  we  tell  the  story,  tell  it  o'er  and  o'er 

again, 
Undimmed  and  undiminished  by  the  foolishness  of 

men? 

A  minister  of  Jesus,  of  the  Christ  of  Calvary's 
cross, 

Who  for  the  world's  redemption  counted  every 
thing  but  loss! 

How  shall  He  be  uplifted  by  our  greedy,  grasping 
hands  ? 

How  shall  we  show  His  passion  as  the  depth  of 
it  demands? 

207 


My   Country  mid  Other  Verse. 

A  minister  of  Jesus,  of  the  tempted  and  the  weak! 
Oh,  who  but  God  shall  help  them  ?  who  but  God 

shall  dare  to  speak? 
Who  shall  heal  the  broken-hearted?  who  shall 

comfort  them  that  weep? 
Who  shall  say  the  word  of  truth  and  love  for 

those  who  "fall  on  sleep?" 

Oh,  brother,  God  be  with  thec,  God  be  with  thee 

all  the  way! 
The  arm  of  flesh  will  fail  thee,  God  alone  can  be 

thy  stay; 
Yet  even  for  thine  office  hath  His  wondrous  grace 

sufficed, 
Happy  minister  of  Jesus,  blest     ambassador    of 

Christ. 

First   Baptist   Church,   Pasadena,   Cal.,   Novem 
ber  21,  1898. 


208 


My   Country  and  Other  Verse. 


MY  PENNY. 

With  happy  heart,  and  eager  hand, 
In  the  sweet  days  of  old, 

I  took  the  penny  father  gave, 
As  if  it  had  been  gold, 

And  proudly  to  the  church  I  went, 

And  gladly  gave  my  shining  cent. 


Too  soon  I  learned  its  paltry  worth, 
And  then  my  pride  witheld, 

Or  envy  filled  my  foolish  heart 
When  giving  was  compelled ; 

The  gift  indeed  was  often  more, 

But  less  the  offering  than  before. 


There  came   another  change;   I   learned 

My  childish  wisdom  o'er, 
And  with  glad  heart  I  gave  again 

My  gift,  or  less,  or  more: 
My  penny  shone  like  gold  again 
Because  I  gave  it  not  to  men. 


209 


My  Country  and  Other  Verse. 

So  was  it  when  I  learned  to  sing; 

My  penny  seemed  so  bright 
I  gave  it  with  no  little  pride, 

And  all  a  child's  delight: 
It  seemed  too  pretty  to  be  mine, 
And    I  was  glad  to  see  it  shine. 


But  when  I  found  it  wasn't  gold 

I  hid  my  gift  away, 
My  penny  was  so  poor  beside 

The  wealth  I  saw  each  day, 
It  didn't  seem  worth  while  at  all 
To  make  an  offering  so  small. 


My  gift  is  still  a  common  coin, 
A  penny,  nothing  more; 

Yet  I  have  learned  to  give  again, 
Not  with  the  pride  of  yore, 

But  with  a  willing  heart  and  free 

I  give  as  God  has  given  me. 


210 


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